Seán and Sam

My Guyliner blog is thirteen years old next week, and I’ve been reviewing Guardian Blind Dates for nine of those and, I must confess, I’ve been wondering whether it’s time to wrap things up. Have I run out of things to say, finally? My childhood teachers thought this day would never come. However, on two separate occasions this week, and completely unprompted, two people I didn’t know told me how much they enjoy these reviews, so I thought I might as well hang around a bit longer.

And thank goodness I did because look what two hours on Vinted brought me! This adorable pair! We have support worker Seán, 26, and 25-year-old Sam, who’s a social media executive.

– the trousers are NEVER mentioned, which is a travesty, I love them – before we come back here for the Blu-ray director’s commentary or whatever.

Seán | Sam

What were you hoping for?
To try a more conventional style of dating, outside apps, and put an end to my unfortunate dating streak.

Interesting that apps are still not seen as the ‘conventional’ way to date, when they’ve been around for so long now – since Seán was about 13, in fact. Perhaps this is the lingering stranger danger fear we’ve inherited from a generation or so up, who still think meeting a data processor on Hinge is a surefire way of ending up murdered or, worse, radicalised into voting Tory.

What were you hoping for?
A whirlwind romance straight out of a Nancy Meyers or Richard Linklater movie. Failing that, a nice meal.

Beware of whirlwinds. If you must experience that frothy headrush, maybe stick to a nice whirlpool jacuzzi instead, or perhaps sit inside a dishwasher for half an hour.

First impressions?
Walking into the restaurant I saw him from behind first and thought this has potential. I also loved his jacket.

I’m assuming Seán means Sam had a nice arse, rather than a pleasing nape, or fascinating shoulder blades. The jacket is what I would politely call ‘striking’, and brings back memories of lots of girls at my university wearing similar as the nineties circled the drain.

First impressions?
The 1970s. Seán has a gorgeous set of locks and a tache to be proud of.

From the 90s to the 70s. Now I know how my mother must’ve felt when smiley pop acts started doing low-rent hi-NRG covers of the soul bangers she bought on 7″ in the 60s. Your past becoming an ironic trend or nostalgia fodder for talking heads shows is more sobering than a surprise trip to Dignitas for your wedding anniversary The locks are great, though. Very Beck, I thought, and he was – yes we’re back there again – the 90s, a decade in which the 70s were very big again. Oh it’s all so confusing. Next!

What did you talk about?
Pop culture. My poetry book. Janet Jackson. Vinyl hunting. Our top five Lana Del Rey songs.

As well as his devotion to Abba and our mutual love of Lana Del Rey, we wrote a poem together.

Poetry ✅ – I can recite only one poem from memory, by Gyles Brandreth, from a poetry anthology we had at school. It’s called Ode to a Goldfish and goes:

O
Wet
Pet!

(I think, I’m not googling. And yes, I did English Literature for A-level.) As for writing a poem together, this is very sweet but OMG poetry is so risky. Being exposed to someone else’s writing is a terrifying prospect for me; it gives so much away. Imagine if you were really attracted to them and thought they might be the next Wordsworth or Sylvia Plath or whatever, and it turned out they struggled to come up with anything more sophisticated than ‘One Potato, Two Potato’

Lana Del Rey ✅ – My top five Lana Del Rey songs:
Lolita
Hope Is A Dangerous Thing For A Woman Like Me To Have – But I Have It
Treats in the Usual Place
You Don’t Have to be Mad to Work Here, But it Helps
Did You Know There’s a Special Railway Under London, No Not That One, a Different One, Like For Letters or Something

Abba/Janet Jackson – Now, them, I do love. (Fave songs: Lay All Your Love on Me for ABBA, Nasty for Janet.)

Most awkward moment?
A pernickety waitress in the pub we went to afterwards started using our table as the holding space for menus, cutlery and napkins – enclosing us so we had to sit closer and closer. We thought she might be the matchmaker in disguise!

I don’t know if you mean ‘pernickety’ – do you mean she was annoying? I do think it’s very sweet how they interpret a server being incredibly rude as some kind of romantic sign. We must protect their innocent hearts.

Most awkward moment?
I told Seán a story about hawks, but he misheard and thought I was talking about a similar-sounding word (not ending in K). I’m glad I could clarify that one before the end of the evening.

Whores? How bad were the acoustics? I mean, as comedic misunderstandings go, I think even the writing room at Not Going Out would toss this on the ‘only if we’re desperate’ pile.

Good table manners?
Very good. Though, we were at a tapas restaurant so getting crumbs on the table was inevitable.

Oh tapas, great. Seven dishes of not quite enough of anything and far too much of one thing you ordered by mistake thinking it was meatballs. (This is a joke. I like tapas. No furious comments please.)

Good table manners?
We apologised to the waitress for the amount of mess on the table.

It is quite hard to fish glorified canapés out of a terracotta ramekin without making a mess so I’m sure the waitress was very understanding.

Describe Sam in three words
Inquisitive, cultured, warm.

Inquisitive – Like a squirrel with a spare set of keys to the local newsagent.
Cultured – Like that yoghurt that’s been sitting (on its SIDE) in the egg tray of your fridge since Liz Truss tanked the country.
Warm – Like a greeter in an airport lounge whose fourth illegally obtained diclofenac of the morning is finally kicking in.

Describe Seán in three words
Charming, kind, poetic.

Charming – Like school uniforms would be if you could wear a pussy bow blouse and a sequinned shrug instead of a blazer and tie.
Kind – Like a tall handsome man in the supermarket who sees you struggling to reach the top shelf and offers to retrieve whatever it is you’re after. Sadly it’s haemorrhoid cream and he suddenly remembers there’s somewhere else he has to be.
Poetic – Like the justice should B**** J****** ever trip over a suitcase full of cheap chardonnay and fall headfirst into a waiting open sewage pipe.

What do you think Sam made of you?
I hope he thought I was good company and interesting to spend an evening with.

Ah I hope so too. I’m sure you were, what lovely young boys we have here. Better than the usual riff-raff etc etc. I feel quite paternal about these retro-jacketed lads. I can imagine them having long, lovely afternoons flipping through clothes rails of ironic T-shirts in one of those musty vintage landfill shops in the arches at Stables Market. (Is that still there?)

What do you think Seán made of you?
Is he an alcoholic?

Hahaha. Oh I’m not one to advocate binge drinking these days but if you’re queer and young, and on a first date, and you can handle your ‘ale’, you might as well get shitfaced. I say this as someone who hasn’t had an alcoholic drink in three and a half years, this is the most bonkers era to be sober at all times.

Did you go on somewhere?
An old pub in Borough Market that we both agreed had an 1850s Oliver Twist vibe – specifically Oom-Pah-Pah from the musical version.

Borough Market. I used to live round the corner. I like the idea but at the weekends it’s like being kettled by Boden and Ocarro, and the smell of raclette makes you feel like you’re fighting your way out of the inseam of a cage-fighter’s unitard. I say as a former local: the pubs round there are mainly heinous, except the Gladstone. The Grapes used to be OK, too, I suppose.

If you could change one thing about the evening, what would it be?
That we had kissed.

Oh Seán. That day will come. At least you still have your honour.

If you could change one thing about the evening, what would it be?
To finish the poem we started.

Well, the easiest way to get cracking on that second stanza is to get in the same room.

Marks out of 10?
8.

8.

Regular readers or just the instinct of a rainbow couple knowing you can only score a 10 if you ?? and a 9 needs a kiss? Either way, it’s a double 8 but, as sure as Padam Padam isn’t done climbing the chart yet, this score has definite potential to make it all the way to the top spot because…

Would you meet again?
We have a date in the diary.

Seán has promised to take me to Abba Voyage. It’ll be his ninth time.

My, my.

Did you like this?

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Something to remember about the review and the daters that I put at the end of every review

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. Did you manage to make it to third verse yet?

Sam and Seán ate at La Gamba, London SE1. Fancy a blind date? Email blind.date@theguardian.com