The Serial Dater Page 4

  This leaves four unread messages and I notice one is from Lawrence, alias ‘LorrieChi’, tonight’s date. He’s checking we’re still on. I say I’m looking forward to it, which is less than honest after last night’s experience, but hope my optimism shows in my typing. The other three include one guy I’ve already messaged but he says he’s no longer available and should have pulled his advert weeks ago. “Why didn’t you then?” I grumble at the screen.

  The final two are from a Robert and a Nigel. I click on RobbieY69’s first. Having given him the benefit of the doubt that he would have been born the same year as Felix, I’m proven wrong. Although his profile is littered with innuendos, there’s something quite appealing about him, so I decide to send an innuendo-free reply.

  ‘NigelEByGum’ doesn’t say very much… in fact just ‘Hi. How are you?’ so I make up for it by sending a rambling email back, referring to bits of his profile and asking if he’s free this weekend.

  With the online inbox cleared, I set about compiling today’s piece. I remember what William said, and entitle it ‘What did I learn from last night?’

  I press the Enter key twice to leave a space and write the body of the article.

  So, what did I learn? That you can’t always judge a book by its cover (even if it’s covered in banoffee pie); to either make it clear whether to eat beforehand or together; and to take something to read because your date is too busy eating to talk.

  As I type, I regret not repeating Monday night’s purchase of a newspaper, then at least I wouldn’t have had to look at the car crash that was happening on the other side of the booth.

  And what can I say about my date last night? Lots, but sadly little that my editor would allow to be printed. Let’s just say T had a healthy appetite. We met at the World’s End in Ecton, which, for those of you without good local knowledge, is near the area of town known as the Eastern district or the ‘where you don’t want to live’ district. The World’s End bar, restaurant and hotel and Ecton itself are charming (if you ignore the smell from the local sewage plant – which is why no one ever drives along the A45 or A4500 with their windows open) and the venue did not let me down.

  I delete the districts bit so not to offend locals, because the area’s improved vastly over the years, but leave the sewage bit in because everyone knows it’s true.

  I understand from my editor that a few of you are interested in meeting D, mentioned in yesterday’s article. Naturally, for reasons of national security… Data Protection Act 1998 (or is it 2003, I never remember) I can’t give you D’s details and because this article is ongoing I can’t divulge to him that he was the first guinea pig in this experiment. I’m sure you understand.

  We have also had some enquiries after the ‘shopping list’, so what I’m going to do is keep letting you know which ones each ‘date’ ticks in the Do or Don’t do list and you can see whether it matches your list. What? You haven’t made one? Maybe not on paper, but every one of us has, at some stage in our lives, made a mental note of what we seek from a potential partner.

  Back to T and I at TWE.

  T had the kind of figure where his stomach arrived before he did. It looked like he was either nine months pregnant or… but realise it’s cruel, so I highlight it all with my mouse and press the ‘delete’ key.

  T had a heart of gold. A heart that’s made to work too hard. He’d ordered a mixed grill (I feel that’s kinder than a ‘platter for two to share’) before I arrived, so the first few minutes of our date held little conversation. (True.) It soon became clear (because I said so) that we weren’t compatible and we went our separate ways.

  Scratching around for things to say about him other than appearance and pie-eating contests, I realise there isn’t anything. What really happened is only known by Tim and I, and I debate making something up, but with so many dates to recount, I figure it’s easier (and of course more ethical) to stick to the truth, so I return to the subject of the list and dating in general.

  I realise when editing the first draft that it’s very sparse, so click on Tim’s ‘Timbo77’ profile for more inspiration about the man himself. A picture has appeared since my original look and it shows his sad eyes. It’s obvious he’s unhappy being the size he is, and I wonder why he doesn’t do anything about it. I guess it’s like being an alcoholic where the substance takes you over and you feel powerless to do anything about it. Duncan is living proof though, that it’s possible to come out the other side. Maybe I could ‘Ask Agnes’ (aka Keith) about Tim and see what he, sorry she, thinks.

  I realise I’m becoming too involved with these men. This is supposed to be fun, so I continue with the article, and add in some online dating tips.

  When you’re thinking about setting up a profile, do be honest, but don’t give too much of yourself away. While you can hide behind a profile name, it’s easier to use your real first name (surnames a definite no-no) on the dates themselves (especially if you’re going to persevere after the first one). Any other slight inaccuracies you use have to be well remembered or they could come back to bite you on the bum. Above all, don’t take yourself, or other profiles, too seriously. There’s a very helpful ‘How to set up your profile’ on the dating site I use (I’m unable to tell you which one for the duration of this project), but if you get stuck, the site usually has an FAQ section. Failing that, drop me a line via the email address at the bottom of this column.

  Things to remember once your profile is set up and running: Men are more likely to lie about their age, height, (this is where I think of Duncan again and melt into a puddle of cornflakes – which reminds me, I should have put my sandwiches in the fridge as warm cheese is horrible) income and marital status. While online dating has the advantage over face-to-face nightclub or pub dating of you being able to make a cup of tea and turn up the central heating, you often find photographs provided are either very old or of a handsome friend. It has been known for people, male and female, to scan in photos that come with picture frames or out of magazines, but they’re only fooling themselves because you’ll have to meet them eventually. What they’re relying on though, is that you’ll have been so swayed by their charm that looks won’t matter – and we all know that’s bollocks. (I delete the last word and replace it with rubbish; bollocks would never get through the William sensor.)

  While most dating sites will say you get far more responses if you include a photograph, you may get more honest messages if you don’t. It’s entirely up to you, but you also have to think about whether you want the world and his wife knowing you’re looking for a partner. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great way of meeting people and there’s little stigma attached to it these days, but some people have jobs where they need to be discreet (not something I’m known for).

  If you create your profile and want to look for others before you get any messages, there are search boxes to fill in, but remember, the more specific you are, the fewer profiles you’ll get to see. If you see a profile you like you can usually either ‘wink’ at it, which sends an automated she/he’s interested in you, or you can compile a specific message. Depending on how interested you are or how recently they logged in (and therefore how interested they are in finding a mate), you can decide.

  You can see from someone’s profile whether they’ve logged on x days, x weeks or even x months ago. The chances are if they’ve not checked their messages for a month or more they’ve either found someone or lost interest, unless you’re my boss, William, who has… I hold the Ctrl key down and hit the backspace a few times deleting the last bit; it’s never going to get past his desk, so I don’t see the point in going any further. I replace it with… unless he or she has been on an extended holiday or business trip. If that’s the case then a ‘wink’ is the best course of action to avoid wasting your time or enthusiasm.

  Once the messages come in, you can swiftly weed through the weirdos – photos of any parts of their anatomies other than their faces usually give the game away – and see w
hat you’re left with. In my case today it was thirteen messages out of twenty-three, so if you work on a fifty-fifty ratio you’re probably doing well. Again you can decide on whether to have a quick chat or an involved ‘deep and meaningful’ exchange. If he’s sent you ‘Hi, how are you?’ you don’t want to reply with a long list of your aches and pains, or how your boss has been… (I backspace again, putting a full stop after pains) Equally, if he’s taken the time and effort to send you a lovely ramble about what he likes and dislikes and so on, you don’t want to send a one-liner, unless you’re really not interested. It’s a good idea to have a few messages flying backwards and forwards before you agree to meet. (Pot, kettle, black)

  Meeting the opposite (or, of course, same) sex should be fun. Follow all the common-sense rules: meet in a public place and tell someone where you’re going… yada yada yada.

  That’s me done for the day. Good luck with creating your profiles and if you’re a bit further along in the process, good luck with your messages, or even further, good luck with your dates!

  Oh yes, the shopping list. You want to know which boxes T ticks: Don’t – eat in front of your date who’s already eaten, and Do – have a late-night (or midnight if the date goes well) snack in your fridge for when you get home. And spare your date’s feelings – be very diplomatic, but honest when letting them down. They may have heard it before, but they’ll want to know where they stand.

  I look at the clock and it’s nearly two. I should have guessed from my stomach growling like a shredder. I take a quick scan of the piece, print it off and walk it over to William’s office. He’s on the phone with the door shut, but beckons me in. I put the article in his in tray and wait, but it’s soon apparent he has no intention of finishing his call and I can tell by his expression it’s not good news, so I make a run for it.

  I go back to my desk and take the lukewarm cheese sandwiches out of my bag. They look as appetising as Tim’s dribbled syrup and pastry, but I don’t have time to go out, and the vending machine only has crisps and chocolate.

  My sarnies taste like my old slippers (not that I’ve ever tried them of course), but I persevere. I still feel unfulfilled and am walking to the vending machine when Donna pounces.

  “So,” she pants, “how… how, did it go?” Her eyes are as wide as I’ve ever seen them. She reminds me of Tigger on something dubiously illegal and I can’t help laughing.

  She stares at me and it’s obvious she’s trying to work out whether last night’s date was a success or failure.

  “I’ve just submitted my column to William, you can read all about it tomorrow,” which I know is untrue as there are so few lines about T.

  “No! Don’t do that to me. I want to know now! I want it from the horse’s mouth.”

  “Have you had a lunch break?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  “Come on.” I lead her to the kitchen and one of the sets of tables and chairs at the rear of the room. We sit with our backs to the wall so we can spot anyone, especially William, coming in, and Donna’s already springing up and down like a child in a bouncer. I’m getting a headache.

  I give in and she settles down. I relay almost blow by blow, and have her in stitches. By the end she needs tissues and is patting her eyes when William walks in. We can tell by his expression he thinks it’s ‘women’s troubles’ and he jabs at the button for coffee (Janine, it turns out, has the flu and is going to be off all week), grabs it as soon as it’s done and shuffles out without a word.

  When back at my desk, I check my messages again. There are equal numbers of work and pseudo-work emails: eight of each. I debate for a second which to answer first and decide that tallgirlnn1 is going to be more fun, so deal with the laborious Outlook inbox first. There’s one from Keith congratulating me on my first ‘new’ column and offering his ‘Ask Agnes’ services. I stand up and look at the right-hand corner of the office. Keith looks up and I wave. He smiles and looks down again. Despite his line of work, he’s the shyest person I know, and I shake my head as I sit back down, wondering whether he ever takes any of his own advice.

  There are two more messages from new suppliers and five from readers regarding the new column. I respond to the new suppliers thanking them for the offer of free items to evaluate, giving them the paper’s postal address and the usual statement saying I can’t guarantee to feature their items. I then click on the first of the readers’ emails. It’s from a chap called Dudley. It gives me a scare for a second because I read it as ‘Duncan’ and think he’s found out about me already, but as I read on I realise Dudley’s just asking for advice about his unfaithful girlfriend. I reply, thanking him for his message, but saying it’s not really my department and that I’ll forward it to Aunt Agnes. I blind copy Keith in so he can deal with it without giving away his real identity to Dudley.

  The next email is from Jenny who’s just turned forty and hates it. All her friends are engaged or ‘spliced’ and she feels lonely. She says she’s not sure whether to try internet dating, but all the conventional routes have been a nightmare. I realise my new column and Keith’s are not that dissimilar. I reply saying I understand how she feels (not completely untrue, albeit ten years younger), and that she’s welcome to follow my column (I’m secretly not sure she should in case it ends in disaster) and/or I could pass her email on to Aunt Agnes who may be able to offer her advice in a more professional capacity. I get a swift reply thanking me, but saying she’ll ‘wait and see’. Oh, shit.

  Reader email three is from sixteen-year-old Brad, which I suspect isn’t his real name, who has tried gaynorthantsdating over the past six months and had a mixed response. Again, I mentally have Keith lined up as a fallback, but it’s all good. Brad came out to his family and friends the year before, who have been incredibly supportive, and he’s just wishing me luck. I reply, applauding him, while trying desperately not to be condescending, for his maturity, and thanking him for being so open with me.

  The last but one is from Ruby who says she’s more than twice my age, is doing a course at her local library to use a computer and would like tips on setting up an online profile. I smile as she says she’s there writing her email and has to ask the librarian how to send it, so she apologises if I have to wait a minute in case he’s busy. She goes on to say her husband of fifty-seven years died two years ago and she’s just feeling ‘ready to start again’. ‘Terry wouldn’t mind,’ she adds.

  I sit in a reflective mood as Donna bounces over. I swear she’s on a spring. I’ve never known her to have a bad day and I’m jealous. I try to be a ‘glass half full’ person; sometimes it’s difficult, but with Donna it seems so natural. Even when we go out, she’s like a little bullet, a mini bottle of fizz. Our evenings are fun, and in a way I don’t want her to be snapped up because it wouldn’t be the same, and who goes out on the pull on their own? Someone braver than me.

  “Hiya!”

  “Hello,” I say as cheerfully as I can.

  “Has he contacted you yet?”

  “Who?”

  “Hunky Dunky.”

  I had thought for a second that she was going to say Tim, but my heart leaps when she mentions Duncan’s name.

  “No. Should he have?”

  “I don’t know. I thought you had a good time.”

  “We did. I certainly know I did, but he’s not messaged me and I can’t message him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s work.”

  Donna blows a loud raspberry, which makes our colleagues look up, even Keith way on the other side of the office.

  I laugh. “Donna, you crack me up. Can I bottle you and sell you to my readers? They’d pay handsomely for liquid Donna, and I bet Keith would have a constant supply of customers.”

  She giggles as only Donna can and skips back to her desk. I should speak to Chloë in HR to check Donna’s CV – I’m sure she’s underage. I know for a fact that Donna’s five months younger than me, which reminds me I shouldn’t leave i
t too long to think about organising a party for her, but her brain age needs verifying. I’ve always been a serious person and sometimes I wish I could relax. I can’t pinpoint why I can’t and think maybe I should make her a case study.

  I look at the clock and it’s half four. I double-click on the final reader email and it’s from Penny. Her nine-year-old daughter has a computer in her room and Penny’s sure she goes on the internet. She’s worried about her daughter talking to paedophiles and would like some advice. I forward the email to Keith and ask him for his comments before I reply. It not only buys me time because I don’t know what to say, but I’m itching to check my ‘tallgirlnn1’ messages before I leave.

  I flick over to the internet. My session on NorthantsDating has timed out, so I log back in and am disappointed when there are no new messages. I had expected a couple. I click F5 to refresh the screen, but it’s still zero. With half an hour to kill, I do more searching. With only a date lined up for tonight, I’m panicking that this wonderful new column will end up being a total work of fiction, and while I’ve always had an idea for a novel rattling around in the space I call a brain, I’ve never put it down on paper, or in my case, onto the keyboard.

  Before I leave the office, I have a quick final check of tallgirlnn1 and do a ‘yay’ when there’s a message from Felix. He’s free tomorrow night, Wednesday, if that’s any good. I message back saying a cool ‘Fine by me, where do you fancy going?’

  I log off and go home, practising my nightly routine with Mike. However, Donna’s already out there chatting to him, giggling like the proverbial schoolgirl, so I don’t even get a half-hearted nod tonight. I think that if I even walked in with a camouflage rucksack on my back he wouldn’t notice. He and Donna might actually be good for each other. He’d be a guinea pig for the ‘Health’ side of her column and she’d bring some sparkle to his seemingly flatline life.