Henry and Sarah

2025: where every day is like Sunday. A Sunday in Hell, while old episodes of RI:SE play in the background. Today we are going for a v quick spin round the latest GBD, between Henry, a 28-year-old student, and Sarah, 30, an operations manager. I think it’s really important we never find out any more about either of those things.

The full date is here for your ocular consumption in the Guardian. Read that and then return here for five constants and two vowels, Carol.

Henry | Sarah

What were you hoping for?
A fun, easy-going evening with some yummy grub.

Yummy grub! And maybe if Henry eats all his yummy grub – open wide, pet, here comes the aeroplane with its broccoli cargo!! – and is extra good, he will get a biscuit afterwards, or perhaps a mini BabyBel.

What were you hoping for?
A plus-one to my best friend’s wedding and for my dad to see me in the paper.

Bit of a risk going on a GBD so your dad can see you in the paper – there are less potentially shameful methods. Getting caught shoplifting, perhaps. In the GBD, anything can happen – although usually that anything is… nothing. But you might lose your knickers at a party, or leave your shirt in an Uber, or fall in love over your mutual hatred of under toasted croutons. What would your dad say then?! (All of these have happened!)

What did you talk about?
Marathon running. Weddings. Babies. Dolly Alderton. My degree and her job interview the next day (I hope she got it).

Travelling. Glastonbury. Families, DJ’ing. Writing. Running marathons and, of course, hero rats.

Marathon running / running marathons ✅

Waiter, do you have any cyanide? A double, thanks.

Hero rats – Splinter from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? That one from the Rats of Nimh? Michael Heseltine? I believe we should be told.

Glastonbury – A week’s rent (if you live in London and share a bathroom with three exchange students, all called Sven) to stand in a collection of fields cultivating lifelong tinnitus and pissing down your own leg because you don’t want to lose your spot to see, er, Wet Leg. But I wish them well.

Good table manners?
Impeccable. Her chopstick skills put me to shame.

I did manage to teach him how to use chopsticks, but is there ever a way to eat chicken wings nicely?

OMG chopsticks. I’m so bad at it. So, so, so bad. I do try, and so many people have taken it upon themselves to try to educate me – men loved to do this on a date! it was so sexy! – but anything smaller than gyoza or a decent hunk of chicken and I’m in panic mode. I also have a fork nearby – during my heavy ramen phase I considered wearing one round my neck like Sarah Michelle Gellar’s emergency cocaine amulet in Cruel Intentions, because the LOOKS I would get from my date for asking for one would be mortifying. Not that the waiting staff really cared about my cultural ignorance; they’d always say sure and plonk down a handful of forks on the table, just in case I… broke one?

Is there ever a way to eat chicken wings nicely? Yes! In another room, where I can’t see you, while you constantly reassure me that you are using the surgical gloves I provided. (Even imagining messy hands makes me feel ill. You should see me trying to speed-eat a Magnum on a hot day.)

Would you introduce Sarah to your friends?
Anyone who’s worked at an Australian abattoir is more than ready to meet my mates.

Interesting, because I would rather hear a date tell me about their childhood hobby of relieving butterflies of their wings than anything abattoir-related.

Describe them in three words.
Ambitious, outgoing and fearless.

AMBITIOUS, like anyone starting a knickerbocker glory with ten minutes of lunch break left.
OUTGOING, like Labour, in 2029.
FEARLESS, like a young man wearing platforms and v skinny bootcut jeans in the Kirkgate Shopping Centre in Bradford circa 1998. But I did.

Warm, intriguing and relatable.

WARM, like a seat on the Tube just vacated by a man who keeps scratching himself and then looking with grave intent at his fingernails.
INTRIGUING, like nutrition advice from someone on TikTok, until you realise it’s AI and you’re actually watching a builder from Rotherham with a ‘fitness girlie’ filter reading out the back of a packet of NutriGrain.
RELATABLE, like the one kid in the primary school nativity who breaks character and sits on the edge of the stage pointing at the crib saying, ‘It’s only a doll, you know. None of this is real.’

And … did you kiss?
Not this time.

But maybe one day?

And … did you kiss?
No, it was very much friends vibes.

Ah, right.

Marks out of 10?
A solid seven.

8.

You know what else is solid, don’t you? A Boxing Day turd. Ah well.

Would you meet again?
I’m sure we’ll meet again on a half marathon start line sometime.

Probably not, I don’t think there was a romantic spark – it was all very friendly.

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Something to remember about the review and the daters that I put at the end of every post

The comments I make are based on answers given by participants. The Guardian chooses what to publish and usually edits answers to make the column work better on the page. Most things I say are riffing on the answers given and not judgements about the daters themselves, so please be kind to them in comments, replies, and generally on social media. Daters are under no obligation to get along for our benefit, or explain why they do, or don’t, want to see each other again, so please try not to speculate or fill our feeds with hate. If you’re one of the daters, get in touch if you want to give me your side of the story. And, please, name these rats!!

Henry and Sarah ate at Namii in Manchester. Fancy a blind date? Email blind.date@theguardian.com