There are, believe it or not, some people out there who are nice. Just nice. They’re usually enthusiastic about spelling tests, have never stubbed out a cigarette in a coffee cup and, after sex, prod you to make sure you go to the toilet so that you don’t get cystitis.
When you’re not nice – at least not on the surface of it – these people can be a trial and all you want to do is put chewing gum in their hair and give them something to worry about. But you mustn’t. Being nice has struggles of its own, and you can never know them.
Anyway. Read what happened on today’s Blind Date between 33-year-old Kirsty, a production assistant (dunno) and Alex, also 33 apparently, a marketing director. A director. Ooh. I bet LinkedIn is very proud.
Yes, the Guardian Blind Date column is definitely the first place I’d look for one of those.
Interesting how you could also apply this to a final day out at Beachy Head, isn’t it?
Golly gosh a super grown-up grown up and everything! I didn’t realise Kirsty had made the long trip from Malory Towers to go on this date.
“Meaningful work,” say two people who work in TV and marketing. I would laugh my head off if I didn’t need it later.
Imagine being at the next table to these two clean-shirts while they polished off What’s Up by 4 Non Blondes and caterwauled their way through When I’m Good And Ready by the seminal Sybil.
Right. This is all very “sweet” and would make an excellent Richard Curtis movie if he is still interested in making those, but…
It’s like being hit over the head with a mallet made up of sweepings from the floor of a Disney Store, 1 million receipts for a toaster from John Lewis and Winnie the Pooh’s chuckle.
THANKS FOR COMING.
A businessman in a denim jacket? “Yo babe that’s cool I’m down with that uh huh yeah, fancy a few drinks on the balcony of my luxury flat above a Tesco Express?”
If he was wearing a denim jacket, why was her first impression of him “A real businessman!” Was he wearing it over a suit? Collar up? Was his business card sticking out of each unnecessary pocket?
If you go to a self-checkout machine, perhaps the one in the Tesco Express below Alex’s flat, and ask it what it likes the most about you, this is what it will say.
I actually like that Kirsty has managed to get a “shout out to the girls” into her column, like someone who phones up the radio to play the “Noise of the Week” competition to win tickets to see Halo James at Milton Keynes Bowl.
The absolute state of heterosexuality in 2015, though.
A gentlemen usually tells by pretending he would never tell.
I am wrapping this up because although they are good people, my will to live is packing the big Samsonite and has unplugged the kettle. I need bite.
I was wondering as I read the answers whether they fucked, but if they did it can’t have been incred because a 7 is a 1 in Guardian Blind Date terms, let’s face it. But I think they must’ve done. Alex?
When you pre-agree scores, you usually go for an 8 or an 8.5 or a “cautious 9”. I can’t tell whether they even like each other. It’s like a Crimewatch reconstruction of a date.
This is not Kirsty’s first time at the rodeo, boys. She’s met many a dickhead just trying to get into her BHS plain whites by promising the moon on a stick so she’s not about to lose her head over some guy who’ll downplay any sweet or romantic moves he made as soon as the cab pulls away.
Note: All the comments I make are based on the answers the Guardian chooses to publish, which may have been changed by a journalist to make for better copy. The participants in the date are aware this may happen, I assume, and know these answers will appear in the public arena. I am sure, in real life, they are cool people. If you are the couple in this date and want to give your side of the story, get in touch and I will happily publish any rebuttal.