DATING FATIGUE

From the sublime to the ridiculous, from date desert to man magnet, suddenly a slot in my diary is seriously in demand!

So, MONDAY. Speed dating. I tackled this in the same way I do everything – interviews, business trips to scary places, work - giving it absolutely no thought whatsoever until I arrive and then freaking out. I knew the organizer and arrived an hour early. BIG MISTAKE. Cue an hour shifting uncomfortably in my seat and attempting to eat a mammoth portion of chips slathered in ketchup in an enticing (not repulsive would have done) manner as wave after wave of stunning, stylishly attired ladies rolled up to be shiftily assessed by the male ‘talent’ already in situ. A sticky label with my name hastily scribbled on it marked me out as a contestant (because lets make no bones about it this was definitely a competition…unfortunately I’m not sure the prize turned up) and gave each man a legitimate opportunity to ogle my chest. There was an initial glimmer of hope in the form of a rather handsome chap but he hastily distanced himself from the whole sorry affair by loudly pronouncing himself spoken for. In fact anecdotally you are far more likely to pull at a speed dating event if you are already in a relationship as the entertainingly titled DJ Reacharound found on Monday…his girlfriend looking on in hysterics while some poor unsuspecting girl launched herself at him.

Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t terrible. It was actually quite fun at times, especially once I’d taken rather too many beers on board, but my favourite moment was when I looked down at my score sheet and realised that instead of writing the last guy's name on the sheet I had written my own. He was fairly dire...clearly I thought I would rather date myself.

Verdict: quite fun but it's essentially the worst bit of every first date over and over again. Not sure it’s really the way to meet someone. Might give it another go though just in case…

TUESDAY. Actual dating! The second attempt at my first internet date in fact. Let’s hope this one isn’t a stalker. Once again I used the old la la la fingers in the ears approach aided and abetted by a hangover and a severe sleep deficit from the speed dating the night before. I yawned my way through the day, we exchanged a few texts, both of us being totally flaky about where or when, and leaving it as 9ish, somewhere. This gave me the opportunity to head home, walk my dogs, catch an hour’s kip on the sofa (risking squashed stripy pillow face) while fending the dogs off intermittently (nothing like a dog’s tongue down your ear to get you in the mood for a hot date), then quick change, new make up and I was ready to rock by 8.30pm.

So all dressed up and no idea where we were going I powered up my laptop and started surfing Guardian Soulmates for talent (this is my usual activity when at home). 20 minutes later I texted him. He rang straight away to say he was stuck at an exhibition in Brick Lane. Slightly irritated, and stunned to find myself suggesting I come to meet him in Shoreditch (he had been meant to be coming to me!), I headed out at last.

Arriving at 9.30pm he still wasn’t there and my phone beeped ominously with what turned out to be my friend informing me she had bailed on her date for the evening. Before mine had even arrived! Still, he chose that moment to finally make his entrance and after some awkward peering at each other to establish that yes we were the right people we vowed to try and have a more successful night than my friend. At which point it all started to go with a bit more of a swing. There were some awkward moments like the mishearing of boobs instead of boots. This went on for a while…why he thought I would have been talking about my boobs I do not know but nevermind. I had also managed to squeeze us into the tiniest corner of the restaurant and what had seemed like a romantic nook swiftly became a sweating hellhole with my face steadily moving from rosy glow through beetroot mess to pulsatingly puce. Those of you who know me won’t necessarily be surprised by this but it is unfortunate on a first date. It is also something that always happens when I drink on a hangover so I should know better. And sadly the hangover let me down in more ways than one as by 11pm I was virtually incapable of stringing a sentence together and when asked what I like doing when not at work (we had talked shop a fair bit) I literally could not think of a single thing apart from drinking! How to present oneself as a rounded individual eh?

So, on the basis that neither of us was making much sense we decided to call it a night and catch up again another day. He very sweetly promised to call me and has been in touch already to arrange another date for next Monday, so now I just have to stay off the booze on Sunday. Except, you guessed it, I have a date with someone else Sunday afternoon…oh dear.