This week: Two vibrant, bright young things, with a devil-may-care attitude and the whole night in front of them, right? Well, no. If you’ve got some wet paint, go and sit in front of that for a few hours for a bigger thrill.
If you stayed awake long enough, let’s look at the all-important questions:
Regretting ordering a last glass of cava isn’t something you do in your twenties, on a date that sounded as polite as a post office queue in the Home Counties – it’s best left to bawdy grandmas who flash vicars at christenings or captains of industry who hire Shingy. Regrets are like cardigans and gout – you shouldn’t have them at 24.
I’m with Charlie on the whole “list of questions” thing – nobody wants to feel like they’re at a job interview when on a date. However Charlie does go on to say that Hugh might have found her a bit intimidating, but doesn’t say why, so I’m guessing she gave him more than a withering look as he sipped that terminal glass of cava.
Luckily, Hugh gets his own back by slating Charlie for having her phone on the table – you can’t really blame her for tweeting during dinner, Hugh; you sound pretty dreary – and also dips his spoon into her dessert. If anybody even thought about sharing my pudding on a date, I would a) take it as read that they wanted to have sex with me and b) kill them stone dead for their rudeness. This is why I was single for so long.
On the whole, two nice young people but the only fizz to the date seemed to be in that fateful. Last. Glass. Of. Cava.
Photograph: James Drew Turner for the Guardian