They don’t often place the daters like this, looking at each other, do they? Perhaps it’s a sign that the two have fallen madly in love. Well, I’ve read ahead and here’s a spoiler: no.
As I have said before, I have a confusing relationship with this column as I don’t really understand why anyone would willingly take part in it. I mean, if you really want to get noticed, just apply for Big Brother or kill someone or something. I once appeared in a magazine in the hope my dream man – a nonexistent one, as it turned out – would notice me and get in touch. Instead I got a lot of unsolicited messages on Facebook from men at least 15 years older than me telling me I was “stunning” (*eye roll*) and offering to suck me off. Anyway.
Read what happened on the date before I get up close and personal.
I suppose the least you can do if you are going to appear in the Blind Date column is be entertaining. Sadly, for the most part, it appears this week’s duo didn’t get the memo.
Eddy | Sandra
She had a pretty face, and was wearing a lot of layers.
“A lot of layers.” Is he trying to say he couldn’t get a decent view of her boobs? Or maybe she made a big performance of taking all these layers off when she arrived. People who take ages to sit down are a particular, inexplicable bugbear of mine. Just sit down. Now. Anyway, Sandra arrived wearing ten coats and seven jumpers and had a spare blouse handy in case she got cold. Awesome. Next up, the lady herself:
Friendly and easy to get on with.
What do you consider to be a first impression? That moment you see them for the first time – as Eddy clearly does – or the general feeling you get when you spend time with them, like Sandra? Which elicits the best response? I’d say the former. Anyway “easy to get on with” is the most milquetoast compliment this side of “nice” so pardon me for not frothing at the mouth with excitement. Let’s paint another coat on that wall and see how long it takes to dry.
What did you talk about?
Cycling stories, tattoos, guinea pigs. (Sandra’s got two, Michael Bolton and Mariah Carey. They’re sisters.)
“Cycling stories.” I bet the hours flew by. Not even going to get started on the guinea pigs. Where would I begin?
What did you talk about?
Coats, blankets, blankets made from coats, Yewtree
I wish that on the date there could be some way that a person from the Guardian could, if the chat got a little stale, just pop in – or perhaps make an announcement over a PA system – and remind the couple that they are going to be in a magazine that people will actually read. You’d hope it would kind of buck them up a bit.
I know the ideal outcome of this is that the two participants find love, or their very own dull version of it, but really this is a column in a magazine and if you can’t bring the zing then what on Earth is the point? They talked about BLANKETS. Great, thanks. No, no need to elaborate – that’s the juice right there. All I need. Am mesmerised. Christ.
Awkward moments bit is, finally, interesting.
Any awkward moments?
No more than a normal day.
Right. Thanks. Sandra?
Any awkward moments?
When he told me he originally wanted to go on a TV show, but couldn’t give up eight weeks of his life, so this date was a close second.
Eh? What? Which TV show? What TV show could Eddy, an actuarial analyst (no idea) who claims to be 29, possibly want to be on? Could he have been tempted to take part in the upcoming revival of Love Island? Does Eddy perhaps dream of escaping his humdrum world of, erm, analysing things, and being a reality TV star? Or maybe he was supposed to be on Gogglebox. Either Eddy is deadly serious or has made an attempt at a terrible joke and Sandra has not got it at all.
If you come into this column thinking it will be a brush with fame, well, enjoy those Facebook messages from weird randoms, that’s all I’ll say.
Very good. We chickened out of the rib of beef to share, so our manners weren’t challenged as much as they could have been.
You can’t really share a rib of beef with someone you haven’t had sex with anyway, Eddy. It wouldn’t be right. Sharing dishes are a horrible, prehistoric fad that I do not understand and will not take part in. I shared chateaubriand once and it was nice but I’d just rather have my own portion, thanks. Nothing makes my heart sink faster than a “for 2” after something on a menu.
Terse is as terse does. Thanks for dropping by Sandra. I mean, you know, you’re in a magazine but don’t worry about it – we’ll all just sit at home and join the dots ourselves.
What do you think she made of you?
Not sure. I hope she thought I was nice enough. I don’t think she fancied me, though.
“I hope she thought I was nice enough.” Aim high, baby. And, no, she didn’t fancy you.
What do you think he made of you?
Sandra’s staccato responses to most of the questions doesn’t really scream “chatty” to me. Maybe she’s like those people who have no real self-awareness – like the ones who think they’re really easygoing but are in fact Colonel Gaddafi in slingbacks. Perhaps this is an elaborate joke.
I’m over this. Let’s wrap up.
Their scoring, like their patter, is lukewarm. Eddy awards Sandra “a strong 7”, which means 4, while Sandra spits out a 6, which as we all know, is a kind way of saying zero.
Thankfully, both of them catch on that it’s a dud, so do their best to make the inevitable “yes, as friends” point as strongly as possible. Here’s Eddy’s attempt:
Would you meet again?
Yes, I’m sure we could spend another fun evening together as friends.
I’m not so sure. Anyway, well done, we get it. Friendzone o’clock. Can Sandra do better? You bet she can.
We didn’t exchange numbers (we never broached the issue), so no.
Haha, despite scoring him a six and giving the impression that she would rather be talking about BLANKETS than go on a date with this guy, Sandra is peeved Eddy didn’t ask for her number. I can totally get behind this attitude.
“No, I didn’t fancy you at all and your chat was only a few degrees short of being instruction-manual-boring, but you could have at least asked for my number. How DARE you not fancy me?”
A very late victory for Sandra on this one, then. Sorry Eddy. You should have gone on the TV show instead.
Photograph: Frantzesco Kangaris; James Drew Turner, both for the Guardian