The Blind Date

For the first time in my life, I allowed a friend to become involved with my 'love' life.

A few weeks back I received an excitable call from my housemate. She was Christmas shopping at Spitalfields Market and the following, hugely unlikely, set of events had taken place...

She was buying a gift for me and discussing the decision with her boyfriend by the stall which housed the potential gift. The guy working behind the stall asked her if she was buying it for a gay guy to which she said yes. He then asked if this guy was also single - another yes. A series of questions followed - looks, education, interests etc.

It culminated in my housemate taking the number from the inquisitive stall runner and passing it onto me. This whole situation unsettled but intrigued me. While the thought that my crippling 'single' status had proved too important to ignore even during a friend's festive shopping trip was slightly alarming, I thought that this could prove a great story for dinner parties when people asked how 'we' met.

I quizzed her when she returned home and found out the following. He was called Peter (fine), he was 29 (fine), he was good-looking (fine) and he lived in Essex (hmmmm). I jumped in and later that evening sent an ice-breaker text. The day after he replied and the ensuing back-and-forth resulted in a drink being organised for the Tuesday.

You can tell a lot about a person from the way they construct a text message. Peter's texts were, well, disappointing. The to's were replaced with 2's and there was a heavy reliance on smiley faces. But I tried to quell my judgment and hope for the best.

This wasn't helped by a further interrogation of my housemate the night before the date. I asked her how 'gay' he was. She told me that her boyfriend said out of 10 for gayness (10 being Alan Carr gay) before he spoke he was a 5 whereas I would be a 3. Then after he spoke he was an 8 while I would go down to a 1. This did give me a personal sense of satisfaction but worried me about Peter. Was he going to be wearing man-scara and would his conversation consist of making crude sex jokes all night? Again, I tried my very best to stay positive.

The following night I waited, nervously, for him to arrive. I had organised a get-out text to be sent about an hour in, just in case I really needed to leave asap. I would tell Peter that my friend had fallen down a well and needed me to rush to their aid immediately.

As Peter approached me, there was only one thing on my mind. How I would manage to get away with the murder of my housemate without spending my life in prison.

He was wearing a Ushanka, aka those stupid furry Russian hats with flaps on the side. I knew from this very hat choice that we would probably have little in common. He was also incredibly posh. Not a massive problem of course but it was the sort of 'holidaying with the royals' posh that had a domino effect on the rest of his personality traits.

We made worthless small talk as we looked for a suitable bar. My main criteria being a place that was dark and where no one would recognise me.

He was originally Slovakian and had spent most of his life travelling from country to country. I could tell that he had never had a real job as he referred to working in 'retail' for 2 years there or in 'airline' for 2 years. I loved that - it was his way of masking menial jobs by referring to the industry as a whole instead. He was clearly from a great deal of money so never needed to search for a real career.

We sat down and ordered our drinks. Glumly he wanted to sit by the bar. This meant others could see and hear our awkward date. I would rather have no witnesses.

He spoke for 99% of the time about how his mother was a 'very famous' artist in Slovakia and about the book he was writing on Champagne. I drank faster than usual as a way to cope with the inanity of the conversation and also the disappointment that I had wasted a valuable weeknight with this idiot. I could have been at home watching The World's Fattest Dog, eating an entire bag of mini poppadoms.

I received the get-out text and depressingly he said 'oh is that your get-out text?' to which I nervously laughed a 'no' in reply. I knew I couldn't get out easy.

The date reached an all-time low when the following words emerged from his mouth: 'Do you get horny?'

Okay so I can be a bit too old-fashioned at times but still, I wouldn't put that down as a standard first date question. I told him that I didn't shag about and preferred to keep that sort of thing within the boundaries of a relationship. He told me I was very 'un-gay' and then proceeded to tell me how much he loved 'shagging' and that there was a 6 month period when he 'shagged everything he saw.'

I'm not a dating expert but I would put that line down as one of the worst things to reveal on a first date. I also wanted to ask what the limitations were in this 6 month period. Did he literally shag everything? Animals? Household objects? Family?

Instead, I told him I should probably stop drinking and get something to eat as a fourth pint would make me go 'crazy' to which he replied 'I'd like to see that.' I held back the vomit engulfing my throat and insisted I should go home and eat and we left.

We walked to my bus-stop and he asked if I would like him to wait with me. I politely declined and he said 'we should do this again' which caused me to bemoan how busy the Christmas period was so maybe in the new year. He then left and I dropped my fake smile and picked up my phone.

I berated my housemate for setting me up with such a tool and also berated myself. After all, I should have known better. I also swore to never let someone set me up on a blind date again. Or at least not one with some stranger who had a gay voice and who intruded on a conversation at a market stall. After all, I do need to be open to these things.