Stanley and James

Above are our latest contestants, Stanley, 26, who works in fashion (part-time, I assume), and James, 30, who works in a bookshop. A pleasant change from the usual ‘senior executive brand forecasting manager’ or ‘marketing and data services deputy analyst’ or whatever else LinkedIn tends to throw at us.

and then return here for some very in-depth analysis of whatever they’re going on about.

Stanley on James | James on Stanley

What were you hoping for?
The chance to say I’d tried everything before I retire to a life of spinsterdom.

I’d probably give heroin and the fourth series of Killing Eve a miss though, Stanley.

What were you hoping for?
Attraction, engaging conversation and good food.

First impressions?
Warm and engaging.

Another ‘engaging’ from James and we’re only two answers in. James is a quarter PowerPoint presentation on his grandmother’s side.

What did you talk about?
I spoke about the fashion industry and we identified parallels with his work. I moaned about cryptocurrency and he told me the plot of his favourite opera.

His interest in fashion. Galliano’s home furnishings. My interests in ancient Greek literature and my favourite translation of Homer. Family fragmentation. Our lives in London.

Fashion ✅ – Am fascinated by the parallels between the fashion industry and the publishing world, yet also have a feeling I don’t want to know them.

Cryptocurrency – Let’s never talk about this again.

Galliano’s home furnishings – Not even going to bother Googling this, but did you SEE that piece about Lily Allen and her husband’s house that everyone was fawning over because of its allegedly amazing interior design? It would be like living in the Sylvanian Families house! Every migraine I’d ever had convened for an AGM within seconds of me starting to look at it.

He told me the plot of his favourite opera – I’m imagining Stanley saying this as if reading it off a card in his own personal Room 101.

My interests in ancient Greek literature and my favourite translation of Homer – 

OK so I’m guessing the bookshop James works in is a little more highbrow than those ones where you weigh the books on a big scale and pay according to how heavy the books are (a staple of late ’90s, early ’00s beleaguered high streets)

Most awkward moment?
There were silences that were a touch too long. I accused him of lying about a famous Ukrainian ballet dancer having a Putin tattoo.

The tattoo thing is true. And I can hear those silences from here. They’re reaching out through time and grabbing me by the throat.

Good table manners?
No notes! It felt like Lady and the Tramp, as he was so well mannered while I had a lap full of crumbs. He was nice to the restaurant staff, too.

Spoiler: Tramp gets Lady pregnant at the end of that film; I certainly can’t see anything even approaching that happening here.

I was going to say a bonus point for being nice to restaurant staff here but then realised you shouldn’t get praise for doing the very basic decent thing, however, so few people are nice to waiters, it’s ridiculous.

Good table manners?
Impeccable – couldn’t have asked for more.

Couldn’t have asked for more what? More table manners?

Best thing about James?
He doesn’t waste energy on things that don’t make him happy.

Like, uh, this date maybe? I’m finding this a bit like my favourite translation of Homer – hard to fathom.

Best thing about Stanley?
He seemed genuinely interested in my background and didn’t have an edge.

He didn’t have an edge? Stanley is… a Rich Tea biscuit?

Describe James in three words.
Intelligent, calm, laconic.

INTELLIGENT, like that one person in your office who you all think probably wanted to be a linguistics professor or something but a cruel twist of fate left them as second assistant admin executive in a mid-range PR company. They mentally correct the grammar in the pathetic emails you send them and think your boyfriend could do better.
CALM, like Catherine Zeta-Jones patiently waiting for her name to be called out at the 2003 Oscars.
LACONIC – now this might be a first for this one. How exciting. LACONIC, like someone who is not, sadly, remotely interested in you romantically ever since you confessed your favourite book was the Fifty Shades one told from Christian’s perspective.

Describe Stanley in three words.
Affable, inquisitive, honest.

AFFABLE, like you might say about the one neighbour on your tasteful cul-de-sac that you don’t want to kill.
INQUISITIVE, like a grandchild who’s been suspiciously quiet for the last twenty minutes and then comes back downstairs saying, ‘Grandad will you play catch with me with this funny little ball?’ clutching your second-best ball-gag.
HONEST, like I’m going to be now: I feel like paint watching these two dry.*

*I have nicked this joke from somewhere but can’t remember where. If it’s yours, say hi!

What do you think James made of you?
It was impossible to tell: he gave very little away.

But at least you will not die wondering which was his favourite translation of Homer.

What do you think Stanley made of you?
I’m not sure. It may have been to do with my lack of an accent or that he liked my shirt.

James’s answers feel like they’ve been edited by a ChatBot. I keep losing my thread. What might have been to do with your lack of accent? FYI: you have an accent.

Did you go on somewhere?
I couldn’t think of anywhere to take a sober person on a Friday night in Soho.

You can take them anywhere, Stanley. They’re allowed in most places. Bars, even. As far as I know, bouncers don’t check your blood alcohol levels on your way into a place and turn you away if you’re not 45% Bacardi Breezer (RIP). But Stanley has a point here in that Friday night in Soho is full of drunk people and while that is fine, if you haven’t had alcohol or edibles or hoofed anything up your nose, you tend to find drunk people a little, uh, hard to be around. Cinderella didn’t leave the ball early just because the clock struck midnight, you know, the Prince was six pints of Madri down and had started to tell her about a motorbike he was doing up with some blokes he met down the gym and how much prettier she’d be without makeup.

Marks out of 10?
Not a lover of ratings, but he let me try his lemon sorbet so I’ll give a big thumbs up.

Not a lover of Pizza? Avoid Domino’s. Not a lover of dogs? Crufts isn’t for you. Not a lover of ratings? Please do not apply to go on a Guardian Blind Date where the whole point is to rate the person/evening/shrimp starter out of 10. It’s like getting on a plane and saying, seconds after takeoff, ‘HEY, I didn’t realise this thing was actually going to leave the ground, wtf?’

I will interpret this score as a

7

Thank you.

8

This feels like a 7 changed to an 8 a few seconds before James hit ‘send’ on the email.

Would you meet again?
Perhaps in a different setting. I felt James might be more suited to a coffee shop or the opera than central London on a Friday night.

I’d be happy to hang out.

Well, I wish them both a lovely time, wherever their next meeting takes place (ice skating in the depths of hell, I predict).

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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. Or whatever your favourite translation of this date is. 

Stanley and James ate at Barrafina, London WC2. Fancy a blind date? Email blind.date@theguardian.com