Will and Fred

We’re back! Let’s not make a big thing of it. This week drinking from the poisoned chalice of dating doom that is the Guardian Blind date are: Will, 33, a government officer (left, sans cheveux), and Fred, 29, a business analyst (right, avec mustache).

They are both wearing tops that you would hate to see tangled up in your whites halfway through a 90º wash, but they’re handsome enough. Go! Go, hence! And read the full story on the Guardian website before returning here for the burnt offerings.

Will | Fred

What were you hoping for?
To have a fun Saturday night with someone kind and easygoing.

SATURDAY NIGHT?!?! They’ve sent them out at the weekend? What, no ‘oh if only it wasn’t a school night’ bleating, or ‘I had to get up early the next day’ excuses? I have only two words to say: 🍆🍑

What were you hoping for?
Fun and funny!

The words of a six-year-old asked to describe their ideal adventure playground.

First impressions?
Fred instantly made me feel very comfortable – we seemed to just swing straight into conversation and have a laugh. Oh, and I noticed his lovely eyes straight away.

He was handsome, tall, chatty and right-on.

Handsome is a very good start. Right-on, I… I didn’t know people still said that. I am afraid I’m legally obliged to post this:

What did you talk about?
Books. Our West Country upbringings. Reality TV. Opera and theatre … just about everything really. We matched each other’s energy and ability to go off on tangents, so never completed a conversation or thought.

Our shared childhood passion for the clarinet. The Real Housewives and the importance of its depiction of women’s relationships on screen.

Fucking loads, then. No wonder they didn’t have time for dessert before the kitchen closed (spoiler).

Books – Please buy my new one.
Reality TV/Real Housewives blah blah – ✅ The only RH franchise I’ve ever seen a complete episode of is the Atlanta one, at my mother’s. I was a big fan of reality TV when it boomed in the 00s, but have gone off it now – I can’t stand watching people arguing. Especially about nothing. In situations that have been fabricated purely to instigate an argument. Bear-baiting, but with Louboutins, in kitchens the size of football stadia. That said, if I’m scrolling and any version of that row comes up where one of the Hiltons calls another woman a ‘beast’ – I never skip that. I’ve watched it in every language and love the ASMR version.
The clarinet – I’m guessing they grew up in houses where fresh olives were in abundance.

Most awkward moment?
Trying to get the lighting right for our cute little selfie.

Well, it was a good effort.

Good table manners?
Great table manners, and very patient with my indecisive ordering.

Very good.

Do you look up the menu of a place before you go somewhere?Remember that was a ‘debate’ on socials once? We’re all so desperate to find ways in which we differ, aren’t we? Always looking for the next ticket into superiority. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. And it doesn’t make any difference to the experience either way because I’ll still dither slightly.

It’s good to be as patient as you can because even if the impatience is unspoken it will hang around you both/all like a cloud of fart and poison the experience. I have to really have a word with myself  about my impatience when waiting for the bill because it can make *everybody* feel tense and who wants to be that guy? So well done to Will and Fred.

Oh they’ve got really good names for a cheesy couple portmanteau. WillFred. Or FRILL. Brilliant. I am manifesting.

Best thing about Fred?
His moustache. And his energy. Both were 10/10.

Encouraging.

Best thing about Will?
He was interesting and interested in everything I was wanging on about, and also thoughtful and quick witted.

Shall we have a little commotion for these lovely compliments? I think so. Not just one best thing but FOUR best things.

Would you introduce them to your friends?
Definitely.

Definitely.

Describe Fred in three words
Relaxed, genuine, handsome.

RELAXED, like a [REDACTED] after a quick blast of [REDACTED]
GENUINE, like a Michael Kors handbag bought off that woman on Vinted who just got divorced.
HANDSOME, like the barista in [REDACTED] Starbucks who looks a bit like Ryan Gosling if he were 5’7″ and had pink hair.

Describe Will in three words.
Clever, charming, kind.

CLEVER, like Carol Vorderman, in jeans and a nice top off to the premiere of one of those British films that are made for tax purposes and usually star somebody like Luke Goss or a TOWIE drone in their first acting role.
CHARMING, like the guy who tries to sell pasta subscriptions on my local high street every few weeks or so. Pasta! In this Lululemon/Protein shake-loving mid-gentrification pocket of the capital! Imagine!
KIND, like someone who stops you in the street to tell you you’re trailing bog roll behind you on your shoe.

Did you go on somewhere?
Fred took me to what seemed to be the only nearby bar still open. We had a few more drinks and danced to some great 00s hits.

I Introduced Will to Freedom Bar as a Soho rite of passage.

Can I just say that the casual mention of ‘great 00 hits’ as if the bar was playing lute music from the days of Methuselah, and not bangers that came out pretty much 30 seconds ago, made all my ‘fine lines’ deepen to gorges. I have no comment to make on the venue; I haven’t been in for fifteen years, but a scene in my new book – more on this below – is set there.

And … did you kiss?
I would be lying if I said we didn’t.

Rude not to!

LGBTQ+ crew GET. IT. DONE.

Marks out of 10?
9.

Fair. No pole, no perfect score. I mean, I assume there was no pole. Maybe one thing led to another. And another. And then some others.

Marks out of 10?
A solid 8.

Okay. Solid. Like a Boxing Day turd. Call me sensitive, perhaps, but does an 8 not feel a little low after the snogging? And the previous gushing? Hedging his bets, maybe – was worried about going all out on the scores and losing face. Fine, we will allow it.

Would you meet again?
Well, we swapped numbers and mentioned a second date …

Yes, it would be fun to see lovely Will again.

And order is restored. Well done, kids.

‘THE GLORIOUS DEAD’ IS OUT NOW!

Laurie Blount, celebrated playwright, is dead, but his loved ones mourn him, rumours of an unpublished memoir haunt them. What secrets lie within? And can a dead man’s words be trusted? Life will never be the same again.

“Fabulously funny” – Good Housekeeping
“Witty, twisty, and touching” – Red
“Amusing, intriguing” – Mail on Sunday
“Juicy comedy” – Grazia
“Immensely clever and moving, dark and mature, a reflection on loss, on our compartmentalised selves, delivered in a gripping mystery” – Mhairi McFarlane
“Justin Myers has always been a master of characterisation, but The Glorious Dead is a step beyond” – Julie Mae Cohen
“So brilliant on grief, friendships and relationships, and, of course, with Myers’s warm wit” – Louise Hare
“Wise, warm, moving and darkly witty” – Marina Kemp

THE GLORIOUS DEAD is about £15 on Amazon at the moment, but you can find links to other, less controversial sellers here, or you can buy it from my personal bookshop, where I earn a bit of commission. This book means everything to me and if it sold a few copies, that would be wonderful. Thank you.

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

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. How much is a round of drinks in Freedom these days? £50?

Fred and Will ate at Below Stone Nest, London W1. Fancy a blind date? Email blind.date@theguardian.com