I’m never any good at guessing people’s ages – that David Gandy is under 40 never ceases to astound me – but these two guys are in their twenties, apparently. I think we know how this one’s going to go, but let’s get the formalities over with.
I can definitely see where Rob is coming from on this one – Sunday dinners are a delightful thing, when done right. Having lived in London for well over a decade, I can vouch for the fact that decent roasts are hard to find, so perhaps Josh has been eating the wrong Sunday dinners.
Disagreeing over food is never a good start, as people take their eating habits quite seriously, and a mismatch over what to have for dinner can point to catastrophe in other areas. I once spent much of a date berating celeriac to a man I didn’t fancy, but who I knew liked celeriac. I’m guessing Josh saw an ideal opportunity to let Rob know he was not for him: “I hate what you eat, and you are what you eat. So I hate you.” Quite clever, really.It’s with Josh that things get really interesting. And by interesting, I mean we’ve go from gentle hints of a mismatch to dashing vats of acid in the face of romance. Although Rob does make it pretty clear early on the two weren’t matched, Josh gets there straight away with a withering “Not my type at all” on question number two.
And as for his awkward moment? Calling someone out for wanting to be in a magazine when you yourself have applied to do the very same seems a little bit off, but I suppose we get the picture. If you would rather your date was all about being on a date, there are other sections of the Guardian that can help you hook up with a legion of cardigan wearers taking ukulele classes and looking for love.
Perhaps Josh had a sudden flash of realisation that this was actually going into a magazine and he’d better make himself look as dignified as possible.
With those dull-as-dishwater answers to the all-important “table manners” questions, neither of them really pulled it off. But, hey, at least they made it into a magazine.