Hugh and Edie

Oh wow I didn’t even realise Olivia Colman and Penfold from Dangermouse were single. But here they are.

Sorry, kidding. Hugh is 55, a teacher and musician, and has a part-time job opening supermarkets as Gregg Wallace (maybe) while Edie, 50, is an independent advocate – I think it’s wonderful what she’s done for the festive cocktail market over the years. Oh, advocate, right. I see.

Read the date on the Guardian website and then return here for the horror the horror oh no oh no etc.

Hugh | Edie

What were you hoping for?
An exciting, exhilarating experience and a beautiful lady to talk to.

I am willing to bet serious money (£7.50) that Hugh has, at some point, posed for a photograph with a rose between his teeth.

What were you hoping for?
Someone who was easy to talk to and funny. Anything else would be a bonus.

‘Easy to talk to and funny’ – Edie’s first mistake here is being into straight men and expecting them to be like gay men.

First impressions?
When she arrived, on time, I thought she looked stunning, and when we started to talk the conversation just flowed. We seemed to click straight away.

‘On time’ – sounds like we have a stickler among us! But it is very nice to be referred to as ‘stunning’ in any circumstances, unless someone is talking about your BO.

First impressions?
I nearly jumped out of my skin when he shouted “Are you Edie?” before I was through the door of the restaurant. He was smiley, friendly and relaxed.

I went to peek at the restaurant they ate in, and it’s quite small; I can imagine the question bouncing off the walls like a feverish game of Pong. I feel arriving for a date should be like applying a fragrance – you want to be discovered, not announced.

What did you talk about?
Our backgrounds and family. Music. Food. But for me, the best surprise was that she speaks Catalan, my mother tongue!

Births, deaths and marriages. A shared love of Catalunya. Music. Instruments. My puppy named Peter. Family.

Family ✅ – Hugh looks like he would be a good uncle. I can definitely imagine him mussing the hair of a nephew and teaching him how to shave, or applauding heartily at niece’s emo band rehearsal.

Music ✅ – This is foreshadowing btw.

Puppy named Peter – I can’t imagine why you would give a dog a name that conjures up a very strong image of someone who works in a Job Centre and wears the same grey (bobbly) V-neck every day, but you do you, I suppose.

Catalan/Catalunya ✅ – So many matches! I too like Catalunya (Barcelona in particular). I was a little puzzled by Hugh saying Catalan is his mother tongue because… ‘Hugh’. I thought all Catalunya lads were called Martí and Jordí and Rafael. But a Catalan version of Hugh exists! And it is ‘Hug’. See? Educational. Guardian Blind Dates should get government funding. Well, this blog should. The Guardian didn’t do anything in this instance.

Most awkward moment?
It was definitely waiting for her arrival. I was a bit early and ordered myself a negroni to settle the nerves.

Ugh. A negroni! My nemesis in drink form. Having a negroni to settle one’s nerves would be, for me, like ramming a lit firework up your arse (fuse first) to settle your nerves, or listening to industrial techno to settle your nerves. The negroni’s ubiquitousness in summer is second only to salted caramel’s non-consensual chokehold on confectionery all year round.

Whatever happened to gin and tonic served in a small wine glass with one (half-melted) cube of ice and instead of a slice of lime, a stern look from the bartender? Or how about a lager and lime from a scratched half-pint glass? Real summer drinks. Bacardi and Coke, no ice, no straw. Jack Daniels and Coke from an orange plastic beaker at a booze-only barbecue behind the big flats? Tequila shots done out of egg cups? Sorry, it appears that I was briefly possessed by a boomer radicalised by AI memes about the 1970s on Facebook.

But my point still stands: fuck your negroni and the horse it rode in on.

Most awkward moment?
A huge cheese plant next to him kept covering his head as he was talking. We decided to name her (Kitty) and let her join the date.

Maybe he was trying to get Edie to imagine him with hair?

Best thing about Edie?
She laughed a lot, and I liked the way her face lit up.

I have been known to laugh hysterically in the queue for large rollercoasters I don’t want to go on, so while I’m sure Edie was roaring away like a Hammersmith Apollo audience, I wouldn’t read too much into it.

Best thing about Hugh?
He doesn’t take himself too seriously, which gives a good vibe.

A good vibe. Vibes. They are back and they are mainstream. Everything is vibes-based. There’s even a frozen potato product called Vibes which no air fryer should be without.

Vibes can be good, or bad, or off. People can vibe with each other. Policies can be vibes-based (usually not a good thing). We live in a world of vibes and I have no idea whether that is a good or a bad thing.

Would you introduce Edie to your friends?
Definitely, she is fun and a good craic!

The campaign starts here for non-Irish people and anyone who isn’t in charge of writing slogans on the walls of O’Neill’s pubs to stand well back from the word ‘craic’. You can’t be ‘A’ good craic. You can be good craic, sans indefinite article… oh I can’t be bothered. If he’s from Catalunya we’ll have to let him off. Is Edie Irish then? You’d think this would be mentioned more.

Would you introduce Hugh to your friends?
Of course. They would find him funny.

Laughing with, right?

Describe Edie in three words.
Glorious, exciting, admirable.

GLORIOUS, like my new novel THE GLORIOUS DEAD released on paperback in a few days’ time. ORDER NOW!
EXCITING, like finding a half-eaten protein bar in one of the many, many pockets of the leather jacket you bought after the decree nisi went through.
ADMIRABLE, like climbing Everest, finding a cure for cancer, or watching Heated Rivalry with your parents and no cushions on laps.

Describe Hugh in three words.
Funny, interesting, relaxed.

FUNNY, like that smell in the lift, seconds after you walk in.
INTERESTING, like a different smell, in another lift, for even more floors than the lift you were just in a minute ago.
RELAXED, like you’d have to be to fart in an empty lift going up 14 floors, the morning after a ten-course hispi cabbage tasting menu.

What do you think Edie made of you?
We swapped numbers: I think that sends out good vibes, no?

Again.

What do you think Hugh made of you?
I think he was a little disappointed I wasn’t as passionate about bands/music as him. He kept coming back to music and asking me questions about bands, and I think I got the answers wrong.

I am a fan of lots of music and was even a music journalist for a good decade or so and YET ask me about music, what I like, the gigs I’ve seen, where I go (went) dancing and other such questions and I will stare back at you as if it is my very first day on earth and desperately search every corner of my mind for something, at least one song, or album that has made an impression on me – and then I will reply: ‘Dunno really. Lots of different stuff.’

Hugh is a musician, so obviously this is very important to him, but once it was clear Edie had zero clue, why not just move onto something else? How can the evening be a 10 (spoiler, soz) if this passion was clearly not shared.

Maybe Hugh had no idea where to take the chat. A lot of men have very limited conversational skills, and very few develop beyond their teenage selves. It’s amazing really, how guys are allowed to just stop at football, music, gaming, and their chosen nerdery and aren’t expected to engage with feelings or whatever. Do they like it? I imagine it stems from their days as breadwinners – just let the men be boys when they’re not toiling and make the women shoulder the burden – but maybe it’s time to change all that!

I was thinking about this kind of thing earlier after I was talking to a kid who’s just left primary school and he was telling me about how shitty some of the boys were, so toxic and awful and cruel and violent, and how he’s glad he’s going to a different school. And I wondered how we solve this. It’s not really enough to trot out ‘boys are being left behind’ and ‘male loneliness epidemic’ and ‘toxic masculinity’ so we all have to creep about not disturbing the men as it might make them angry or sad or shout ‘fag’ at us from a van or vote for that frog-faced racist or rape somebody.

Extra lessons, perhaps? And for adults, things like speed awareness courses but for not being a bellend instead of flouting traffic laws?

Annoying thing is, it will need to be men – nicer ones, or ones who are terrible but slowly see the light somehow – to instigate the change because that’s how things are. I do feel sorry for men in a way because of the great big trap that is society, but sympathy never fuelled a revolution. Once the cloud of pity has lifted, we must get back to making bread. The answer? A queer child or a straight daughter of their own often gets them thinking, doesn’t it? Not usually great for the kid to be the canary in the coalmine, though.

Anyway, boys, shut up about your stupid band and go tell a woman you know that you’re sorry and you’ll do better.

[Good men, just keep doing what you’re doing, I guess.]

Did you go on somewhere?
She gave me a lift to where I was staying …

We stayed until the restaurant closed as we were chatting away. He asked me to give him a lift to where he was staying, which I found a little awkward. I felt put on the spot.

I am not a huge fan of ellipses and used here… they sound… more sinister… than ever… like an Agatha Christie character is about to tip an entire sleeping draught into a maiden aunt’s cocoa.

I would say don’t ask LONE women you DO NOT know for a lift, after a FIRST DATE. That is just insane. Do you know how many computations and scenarios will be whirring in that woman’s mind? If you don’t… go back to that woman you know and tell her no, seriously, you are so, so, sorry and would they like £1,000?

And … did you kiss?
We hugged … Never say never!

Well I suppose his name *is* Hug (in Catalan).

And … did you kiss?
We had a two-cheek European kiss and said, “Bona nit”.

‘Bona nit’ – goodnight in Catalan but also a 1960s gay man complimenting your head lice in the murky glow of a public lav.

Marks out of 10?
A solid 10.

A solid 8.

A runny 6.

Would you meet again?
Yes, 100%.

Sure, but on a friendship level.

Actually a negroni doesn’t sound like too bad an idea right now.

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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. A lift?! Really? 

Hugh and Edie ate at Bar Etna in Altrincham. Fancy a blind date? Email blind.date@theguardian.com