"Hi, nice to meet you," I said, as I stood up and knocked the 2-for-1 gin slings off the table and all over my jeans
My idea of a perfect first date is staying at home, on my own, watching outtakes from
The Office on YouTube. Unfortunately this is not a great way of meeting new people, and the bloke who came to fix the leak in my ceiling probably doesn't count.
Ah, Graham. What could have been.
And so I fell into the same trap that many recently-single people do and dived straight back into dating. Well, to say I 'dived' implies a level of elegance with which I am not equipped. It was more of a cannonball.
I downloaded all of the requisite dating apps and, like a drunk cat attacking a shrub, started swiping. After a few matches and some Irn Bru-based banter, I landed myself a date with Jemima from Glasgow.
We met in the basement bar of a hotel in Kings Cross. It was pitch black and had chairs so uncomfortable they must have come from a 1920s chiropractor. As I sat, spine bent in half, waiting for Jemima to arrive, it occurred to me that this was the absolute opposite of what I wanted to do with my life at that time.
I thought about trying to escape through the nearest window, then remembered I was sealed in a lightless underground cavern. Besides, I'd made an agreement with someone and I was at least going to do them the courtesy of honouring it. Jemima arrived, and soon I had two very wet legs.
The evening never really got off the ground after that. Jemima was lovely, but we had absolutely nothing to talk about. Irn Bru-based banter, it turns out, will only get you so far. Which is not very far at all.
When I returned from the gents after an hour and a half of "So, do you like... stuff?" I saw Jemima had her coat on and her bag in hand. Paradoxically, I could have kissed her. "I think I'm gonna go," she said. "Yeah, it's getting late," I said. "Yesss! Next stop, The Office Season 7 Bloopers," I thought.
