Date 15: The Mini Date

If I'm going to get through 99 dates before my ovaries become weary, time is of the essence. This means taking every opportunity to meet prospective hotties and check out the chemistry. I'd been chatting to an IT architect, who seemed to have a dry sense of humour and a romantic streak. What an oxymoron? It so happened that he lived in the legendary suburbia of Croydon, known for the riots and as the home of Stuart 'the one with the tag' when I worked packing cosmetics one spring. The glowing chimneys of Ikea were beacons of love. I was going to be working very close to my Mini the next day. An opportunity for a quick tea? 

With fifteen minutes warning, and in my work clothes that would also be suitable for hosting a night in the soup kitchen, I am ringing the doorbell of his flat. It's a whistle stop visit. He is of Pakistani decent, and his eyes are big brown and very lovely much like in his online profile; and he is quite shy which is very endearing.  I have most definitely walked into the space of a home maker, the nesting gene which appears to be the sole most important factor for partners matched on, Channel 4’s, ‘Married at First Sight’, has been fully activated. He has even named the fox emblazoned on his sofa cushion, Martha; and is very concerned that Snow White might not be the right shade of white for his bedside tables. The only mild point for concern was the slogan displayed in large letters on the TV, 'YOU ARE DEAD'.  Not the most reassuring of messages to have displayed for lonesome female visitor. Though, unless my instincts had gone on vacation, I had merely interrupted some quality man time, rather than the words being a hint of my immediate future.

Since the fastest tea in the South, the Mini date has lured me with cheesecake, the scientifically proven ultimate super food for getting a bit chunky due to being irresistable. It’s the perfect ratio of fatty and sweet to trick your body into never wanting to stop stuffing large amounts of lovely creamy biscuity based yummy cake in your mouth. There’s even a Horizon (BBC 2) about it. He also says I can pop round anytime to keep some stuff in his fridge. After living in shared accommodation for sometime now, the simple pleasures like having more than a shelf in the fridge seem a wild dream. This guy knows how to tap into my deepest consciousness. In summary he’s very witty with a coy smile and a lot of space in his fridge, so I’ll definitely consider dropping in with a sprig of broccoli and chipolatas.

Read More

Date 14: The Man in the Mirror

Date 14: The man in the mirror, 

They say we are attracted to people who look like ourselves and that the familiarity or is it egocentricity draws us in. When Date 14 popped up on bumble his face was eerily comforting. It wasn't a perfect face or even a face that everyone would find noticeably attractive. It was just a face I knew, with all the relief synonymous with arriving home after a trip to Benidorm. Gazing into the modern looking glass or the IPhone, I'm looking at the man in the mirror but he’s actually on Bumble. Owww. Here's hoping love is black and white. 

On closer inspection Man in the Mirror (M&M) even works in the same company, we'd surely get on and this might be the start of a beautiful thing. I was based at an unusual office for the week, and GPS enabled app stalking meant I could deduce he was nearby. Was he part of the establishment or not? I swiftly gathered he was visiting his parents, and indeed not only did we work in the same company, but normally in exactly the same buildings, even the weird ones populated by social misfits and gentle geeks, and therefore with many of the same people. I could even get a review before a rendezvous. He recently became a British Airways Silver member so is also no stranger to the delights of the unmistakable flavour of tea made with the finest UHT milk and a free biscuit. I tell him about my enormous room in the Crowne Plaza and the two twin beds. We fantasize about how he could have one, and I could throw mini bar peanuts at him from the other. Then I tantalize him with promises of photos of my hole, my plughole that had failed to be unblocked two days running, and had been the cause of much paddling. Our messages continue for a few days. Personal highlights include competitive suggestive Selfies with various food produce in the supermarkets Waitrose and Tescos express. Rules of engagement define the winner as the one who gets the best innuendo selfies before the inevitable conclusion, whereby you are removed by security. It's a devilishly high-risk activity in your local store, particularly in the event of a permanent ban. But, you're much more likely to be spotted in a smaller Express with less places to hide. Each gauntlet has it's own challenges. Top selfies include anything from the meat counter, vegetables at suggestive angles, fondling nuts, and burying ones face in any nice looking buns; especially where labeling clarifies them as a bun, rather than any other small round baked good. 

The relationship is moving smoothly. Before the first meet, we've already shared images of our most prized underwear, the thermal long John, and expressed a love of the wet weather trouser. Finally, a man who I can be my self around! As we collect our pints of ale, sit at the table of the pub and remove our bags and coats, the similarities don't stop. Not only are we the same height, we have exactly the same bag, and exactly the same branded jacket. Stripping down to our unflattering jeans and unrefined yet practical walking trainers, he really is the man in the mirror! We are peas in a pod. His conversation makes me laugh yet is so brutally honest. My internal monologue keeps repeating, "OMG, this it's what it's like being on a date with me!" It's a bit freaky, shocking but also incredibly easy. This could be the "just clicked" moment.

With the instant rapport, the kiss is going to be the make or break this romance. The moment comes, on the tube platform, and it commences well. He has a secure grip and is very gentle. Ten seconds later, I'm ok with this kiss. Fifteen seconds later I'm not melting, the world isn't disappearing around us, and I'm now analyzing this kiss, "Why is the disappearing platform thing not happening?" I'm not always great at clearing my mind in the 'clear your mind' section of the yoga class, but if there is a time to 'be in the present', I'd say the first kiss is it. This night the magic was only happening at London’s King’s Cross Station, on Platform 9 ¾.

We have a couple more dates and I'm hopeful that this is the slow burner. The M&M needs to be on my side of town the morning after one of the very enjoyable dates, so stays over. As we watch Alan Partridge under the duvet, there's not a fleeting moment where my normal curious desire turns focus to explore his body as well as his mind. On a scale of zero to ten, where ten is "what's sleep?", and zero is waking up fully refreshed with a compelling urge to complete your things to do list, I woke up and logged straight on to the Argos website. If future events do head in an unexpected direction, and it turns out my doppelgänger is 'The One', the morning I spent raving about the range of wide fit shoes Clarks has on offer, may well make it into the speeches. For now though, I have a new awesome friend.

Read More

Date 13: If I was a boy...

... Life in the courtship world might be more straightforward. Date 13 was a surprising evolution of date, or more accurately party night, 12. Unbeknown to myself, my intoxicated male friend had unfettered access to my phone for a good thirty minutes. This was now an experiment that would reveal if the judgments made about men by men were better than my general sober judgment. If indeed, Beyoncé, "I were a boy for just one day" should I role out of bed and complete Bumble, HAppn, and Tinder? And would the result of doing so get me connected with a plethora of super great guys? We shall see.

In amongst the broad spectrum of shapes, sizes, and ages including in some inappropriately young ones (how very flattering of my mate considered them a viable option) that had been very carefully selected on my behalf, there was one who was beaming a smile in every photo. Even if I didn't fancy him, I could bathe in his ecstatic aura, which would surely be life extending. He’s a cash back deal, where when I say cash I mean, minutes of remaining time with a beating heart. And with any luck maybe I’d feel my heart beating. Fortunately he'd been spared the line, "CBA to chat, how about sex?" so was unaware of the debauchery that had led to his discovery. He was really responsive and easy going, and it wasn't long before there was common ground. He was a swinger (Naughty - Not like that) or more accurately a swing dancer. We were both no strangers to a particular class, though sliding doors meant our paths had never crossed. Coincidentally it was a Monday night, swing night and we agreed to go for a drink before the class. 

Date 13 is the Daddy-long-legs of the man world. He is from Czech republic, had studied graphic design and now works in a blood bank. I shall christen him Danny-long-legs, or Danny for short. He’s little bit sciency, a little bit arty, and if he were a chocolate bar he'd be the salted caramel crunch of the confectionary world. We talked about blood groups, how ours were completely opposite, and how the Chinese had to import blood for the Beijing Olympics. And, time passed like a whippet on speed. Disclaimer: Don't try that with your neighbour’s dog even though it’s incredibly tempting. 

Opening the door of the church hall, the class was packed. The warm up complete, I paired with Danny for the first set of moves. And then the ladies move round one; And one more; And another one; And one more, twenty seven times until 50 minutes later I was still not back to Danny. Oh no, there had been a serious error in my calculations. All I could do was look on from afar with starry eyes (I wasn’t wearing my contact lenses), mesmerized by his never-ending pins. I only just made it back to him for the very last instruction! 

All was not lost, the next 15 minutes were free dance, and then there was the intermediate hour. He's really good, and despite his towering physique compared to my distinctly average frame, a match one would imagine would be hard to synchronize, it really worked. Danny your number is definitely staying in my phone, if only for your jockey, swingout and Lindy turn. Intermediate attendance is a sprinkling of that of the earlier class, and there are many more opportunities to legitimately invade the personal space of the gentle giant. I could see myself becoming a regular space invader. Maybe it's time to pickle my onions and sell me for 20p. 

We made the best of the free dance time after the class and had a very respectful farewell. In conclusion he’s lovely and maybe there’s some magic. When I move back to town Danny, I hope to be quite literally in touch. "It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing", and I’ll be checking out his Texas Tommy. On the topic of choices and since, I cannot foresee a time where one day gender reassignment is available on the NHS, I can highly recommend letting your mates of the opposite sex have a good swipe.

Read More

Date 12: Parties, Pulling and New Leads.

It was the weekend of the America themed house party, a theme originally intended as a mocking celebration of Donald Trump’s defeat, and Hilary’s easy victory. In true 2016 style, a year when anything was possible, we had woken up on the 9^th November to find that not only was Brexit happening, but Trump was going to be the most powerful man in the world. An ‘End of the World’ party would have been more appropriate. It was too late to change the theme now, we had already spent considerable hours designing the Facebook banner in a way that looked like it took about three minutes, and had ordered our fancy dress.

As far as parties go, this one nailed it: Peer pong, jellow shots, a ‘movie’ selfie-booth, and a life size cardboard cut out of trump. Our mannequin challenge even got 1,800 views on Facebook. Fully steaming, it was time for the next phase. The club. Not really being ‘clubby’ people, the only viable way to enjoy the over crowded meat-market stuffed with beautiful yet vacant looking shorties, and the equally aimless looking bodies led by ball sacks, was with Jaegar bombs. Oh yes, lots of them. These are drastic measures, or more accurately 50 ml measures, for drastic times. You can do anything as long as you do it with confidence/ Jaegar Bombs. Not only were we double the average age on the premises, but we were in fancy dress. 'Tonight Matthew, I am Katy Perry on the campaign trail', and I shall carry out my moves on the dance floor like any wannabe with stars in their eyes. The intentions were classy, though the semi transparent white dress, black wig and stick-on eyelashes were not. There was so much foundation that my fake bake could have won the RuPaul's Drag Race.

It didn't matter though. We were in a club with twenty or so mates and we were dancing. Moving to tunes that I'd only ever imagine dancing to when I'd been on the M4, M6, M40 .... all the Ms really. I do quite a lot of driving. My purpose here was unadulterated fun with my friends. That was until I felt a bit a bum squeeze. A traditional technique in such a place. When I turned, two of the more mature (though clearly younger than me) men in the establishment were giggling and pretending it wasn't them. Getting the the bottom of it, every pun intended, George, the gardener was responsible for the gesture. He seemed to be enamored with my falseness, strutting his stuff and all too enthusiastically singing along to Sigma, "tired of loving with no body to love", whilst pointing at me. No need to draw attention to it, thanks George. Was it that obvious I’m desperate?

George is cute, cuddly and good dancer so I get his number. His technique was suspiciously stream-line and wordless. I wonder what sort of guy could be attracted to running his hands through the wig of a woman in drag, but he’s a gardener so maybe we could go on a lovely date to the arboretum and talk about petunias. It was nearly 2am in meat market, a time where the boys work out if the energy they’ve invested in getting laid is going to be rewarded. But there’s still enough time to twist. I look at George, “You’re filthy.” He grins with the naughty charm of a boy who just ate everyone’s cake when no-one was watching. “I’m not going to go home with you tonight,” and with that, he disappeared. Poof. I called the number the next day out of curiosity, but ‘the number’ I dialed could ‘not accept this call’.  Oh George, you are a naughty boy. You are the date that got away, which is maybe not such a bad thing.

By 3am it was only our ‘senior’ group mashing up the dance floor, all the kids had gone home. Like prisoners on day release, we were glad to be 'out', and the bouncers weren’t seeing the back of us easily. Narrowly avoiding two fights with the almost macho doormen, finding friends finding coats, lost phones, and exchanging numbers with two lads ten years my junior who just wanted me for my American flag (oh how things change), a stop off at the kebab shop, but somehow we all made it home.  

After a night like this anything goes, so when my male mate goes on an exploration of my phone, absolutely no alarm bells were raised in my mind. The hilarity of having the incoming call screen saver changed to Deliveroo's tiny shiny manhood (he will have his own entry later) was keeping us all very entertained as we drunk dialed. What I hadn’t noticed was that everyone in bumble was being swiped right, and every match messaged with "CBA to chat, how about sex?" 

Five hours later, still semi under the influence I woke up to unprecedented matches and responses! And promptly had to go through all of them with apologies, decline hookups, redeem possibilities, or think of amusing one-liners to guys who where popping up as matches. 

In amongst the variety of guys my male friend had not so carefully vetted, there was one with blue eyes a smile radiating happiness in every picture. Many people seem to find the love of their life when friends introduce them. This is exactly the same right?

Read More

Date 11: The Mexican

In his Bumble profile picture he is standing in a field of freshly cut autumnal sandy brown grass wearing a kilt, white shirt and black waistcoat. To quote Jewel, Foolish Games, he is most definitely the ‘mysterious one with dark eyes and careless hair.’ On closer inspection his eyes are green, so not dark, and it is his brilliantly carelessly curly hair that is almost black. In his other profile pictures he’s wearing a lot of hats, some more suitable for a five-year-old than a grown up. But, I like hats, even ones with eyes. He’s also been to see the Northern lights and to the Banksy pop-up Weston-Super-Mare art extravaganza, Dismaland. He clue are in, and I can ascertain that this fellow likes a creative idea and a trip out. There’s a couple of ticks. He is also a person who appreciates a natural phenomenon caused by billions of electrically charged particles, or solar wind, from our closest star, the sun, entering the Earth’s magnetosphere and colliding with atoms the atmosphere, causing the quantum energy of the atoms to become excited, and release energy in the form of Photons. This one is definitely a geek. I’m in love. I wonder if I could get on this guy’s Aurora Bore-A-list? The rules of Bumble mean the girls have got to do the chatting up so I wracked my brains for a suitable opener.

“Evening Poldark, nice northern lights”.

“It was taken in Norway in a place called Tromso …..”

Hoorah – Get in! Step one completed, I’ve got a response.

Next time I’m in his city, we go for a beer. As lovely in real life as his profile picture, he is indeed a Photon physicist and is doing a PhD at the University. I make him explain his project in great detail. To the point where he starts to look confused and tell me that know one asks him these questions. In my world this is an interactive Horizon documentary with a presenter hotter than Brian Cox. If only I could watch him on catch-up every day.

We get on really well, he walks me back to my friend’s house and we have a kiss. Not just physics, there’s clearly some chemistry too. Since that date we’ve exchanged messages, spoken on the phone, and met up for another drink. He wants to move back to Mexico in a few years, and whilst I can toy with the idea of working in a dive centre in Cancun for the next 10 years, it’s probably not the best long-term strategy!

Read More