“The Netballer”

I had the day off work today and whilst enjoying my time with a trip to the swimming pool, doing a few errands and watching Once Upon A Time, I dabbled with Tinder. I matched with The Netballer. His profile, because I actually read it, said a few things but ended with ‘the only day we we won’t have a date is Thursday, I’m playing netball’.

Turns out The Netballer was off work too, on a staycation he said. He seemed alright, he suggested lunch, and he suggested coming to where I live so that all made it pretty easy. And I am often spontaneous and can’t stand a penpal type of situation when it comes to dating apps.

We met at the tube station, which yes I know I whinged about with Cheese-Bored but this was daytime, at a less busy time, and when I got there, Iain Glen, who to my mind is best known for Game of Thrones was also there and I was giddy. I was trying to take his photo on the sly when The Netballer appeared and ruined it.

He ruined it with his bad jeans, bad leather jacket, bad trainers. I wish I wasn’t so mean but studies have shown you only have 7 seconds to make a strong first impression, and in that 7 seconds The Netballer ruined my celeb-spotting time and topped it off with his bad dress sense.

We went for a cuppa, we chatted but he seemed very awkward, and whilst eating his sandwich was making odd sort of gulpy type moves like my dad does when he has eaten too quickly. He got food stuck in his beard. He didn’t ask me about my job, where I am from, or anything about me. He only asked me about my swim and pretty much talked about himself and his stressful job as an economist and netball.

He actually plays netball.

I didn’t fancy him.

I asked him what he was doing with the rest of the day in a bid to get out of this date, he had netball to go to of course and he then asked me – to which I said I had shopping to do, things to get back to the house for (all lies, I only had Once Upon a Time to get back to and the sofa and tea). He offered to carry my fake shopping for me three times. The lad was keen. Perhaps my giddy excitement at seeing Iain Glen was a good first impression.

I think he even wanted to kiss me when we said goodbye. He messaged me after as well ‘let me know if you get bored’.

I will not be seeing The Netballer again.

 

“Cheese-Bored”

I haven’t spelt this wrong. It all started with talking about cheese (it was Bumble and I needed an opener, he gave it to me in his profile with his penchant for cheese) – this has happened before in the ‘case’ of the Dickhead who I will not blog about because that was a series of poor judgements on my part for longer than necessary and already this is enough words on the matter.

Anyway, Cheese-Bored and I had about a week and a bit of back and forth of some funny messages and anecdotes though come date-day I think I had decided he was a bit odd (Cheese-Bored was reading a maths book for fun (link if you’re interested), had messaged me about the vernal equinox and he always seemed to not be up to much each day). However things can be misconstrued in writing so on the first day of spring, off I went with a spring in my step.

We met at the tube, it wasn’t an ideal meeting point. FYI, he was short. Story of my life it seems (though on the blog there is probably only The Big Man and Titchski as examples). I thought to myself I’ll go with it given Cheese-Bored was quite smartly dressed and had a plan of where to go, he could be ok. Though already I was disappointed. Again. We then walked past my housemate – ha.

We were going to a little French place for wine and cheese. It was a quirky little place, and eventually we got a table for the much discussed cheese board. It was one of those places with plenty to look at, good job really.

The actual cheese-board meant I could focus on the yummy cheese. I was bored. Cheese-Bored was one of these old-man storytellers, telling tales of how beautiful some restaurant is and how good the food is and who had told him to go there. He also told me that Wellington (because there was a painting of Napoleon on the wall) invented seamless socks so people didn’t get bruises – think he was trying to be Factoid but not getting his facts right. Throughout this I was thinking, try and give this guy the benefit of doubt but I could not shake it off. Doubt Taylor Swift would either. 

We finished the cheese and decided to leave. I noticed Cheese-Bored was in a waistcoat and whilst walking back to the tube I complimented his smart shoes. We walked past a shop selling Sherlock Holmes inspired attire, I think he wanted to be him. Not one compliment for me all evening I thought to myself.

Cheese-Bored and I said goodbye. I went home with more wine and dry roasted peanuts to watch Made in Chelsea which was a better end to the evening.

Thank you to my pal for the code name and also for this, which just about sums it all up:

Also, after the date, Cheese-Bored unmatched me on Bumble quicker than it took to scoff the cheese!

“Titchski”

Before I met him he was getting names like “SkiSkiSki” as he had 3 ski trips lined up and I was marginally jealous. This is pretty much all I knew about him, this and where he lives. However, Titchski, and my housemates were right (they sussed this from his photos), was a shorter than your average male, he seemed even shorter than The Big Man.

I wanted to leave immediately. I know, give the guy a chance is what you might think but how long would I have to sit there? How long is acceptable? I was hoping an hour, two maximum. The ideal time for a first date.

Anyway there wasn’t even a glimmer of hope, particularly as the first thing Titchski said was “oh, have you come straight from work?” – which infuriated me who wouldn’t go on a date in London straight from work? I was thinking to myself what does Titchski do that meant he could go home, maybe exercise, freshen up before going on a date? Something to do with investments.

Yawn.

We went back to talking about what we had in common, skiing. He slated my recent ski trip which let me tell you is something you just do not do in my presence. Ever.

We talked about how many weddings we were going to this year, and their locations, this topic is becoming a bit of a regularity on my dates; this happened with Inferno. It was too competitive and too dull as a conversation. I was bored.

Titchski got up to get more drinks which confirmed he really was a titch. Cue the phone check in with pals, “he’s short”.

It annoyed me as in my profile I’ve noted  my height and where I live, I knew he’d read it as we had talked about the latter briefly. Perhaps he was after a Jamie Cullum/Sophie Dahl thing, or Rob Stewart/Penny Lancaster, or my godmother and her husband (though of course he wouldn’t know about them). I wish he had said so beforehand as sorry Titchski, this not for me.

We had one more drink before we decided to call it a night, it wasn’t a tricky one to get out of as I think it was pretty obvious to both of us after around an hour and a quarter, that this was not going to end up in a ski wedding.