Anyway, for whatever reason, these two agreed to “tackle” a burger, which conjures up images of the romantic hopefuls wrestling a cow to the ground before flinging it on the grill and into their eager mouths.
I’m not sure about “we agreed that using hands was fine”. Would you really want to sit on a date opposite someone eating a burger with a knife and fork?! Surely it’s the mark of a psychopath. It’s the culinary equivalent of desperately trying not to end sentences with a proposition.
Hyper-polite burger etiquette bollocks aside (“using hands was fine” – I will never get over this), they both got on really well. Too well.
The whole thing bristles with efficiency, like they agreed their answers in advance. They give almost identical answers to everything save the “What did you talk about?” question, surprisingly, which suggests neither of them is a particularly good listener.
A good date where they get on and agree to meet again is all well and good, but it’s like your train arriving on time and your carriage being peaceful – only to find the buffet is closed and the nearest toilet is at the other end of a 16-car train. Unsatisfying. Underwhelming.
Let’s hope next week’s has two gays ripping each other’s throats out in Covent Garden Nando’s.