Each week the Guardian’s Weekend magazine runs a column called Blind Date. I’m sure I don’t have to spell this out to you.
I pretend I loathe it, but that is absolute nonsense – I adore it and am obsessed by it. Every Saturday morning, while the world is waking up and thinking about its next crumpet, I write a review of the column, based on the answers they give.
Originally it was based only on the table manners question, hence the blog’s name, but I’ve expanded it and now vinegar seeps into every corner, and every answer.
Oh. That’s a shame. My review is based on the answers you actually give. I understand sometimes the answers are given a light zhuzh by the Guardian, but I guess you must know that too.
I’m not here to make anyone cry – and it really isn’t personal – so if you want to write a rebuttal, I’m more than happy to publish it. You can get in touch with me here.
Please don’t bother using this opportunity telling me what a piece of junk I am – you’re not telling me anything new.
I’m a man who writes under the name of The Guyliner, and usually I write a blog called, appropriately enough, The Guyliner. Why not give it a read?