William and Abigail

Today’s contestants are William, 28, a PhD candidate, and Abigail, 24, a theatre artist. Read what happened on the date on the Guardian website before returning here for unnecessary, unwelcome, and undulating criticism of everything they say. Well, nearly everything; we’ve all got somewhere to be.

Before we commence, just a note to say the ebook of latest novel The Glorious Dead is only 99p for a limited time, and it would help me out a lot if you could buy it! The link is to Amazon but you can get it on Apple Books or Bookshop.org too!

William | Abigail

What were you hoping for?
To have a spark of some kind.

William is a can of petrol on his mother’s side.

What were you hoping for?
Love, obviously.

Underappreciated sequel to Love, Actually and a prequel to the more realistic Love, Unfortunately.

First impressions?
She looked very glamorous and suited the smart restaurant far more than I did.

Polite, gentle. Nervous in a sweet way. He was very concerned about being underdressed, but he looked lovely.

Now seems to be as good a time as any to look at the shoes they wore for their photoshoot.

What did you talk about?
Our love of Robert Pattinson. The play she’s working on. Shucking oysters. She asked lots of questions, so I’m worried I dominated. She did a palm reading on me too and it said I’m not a good writer.

Standup comedy. Socialism. Academia. His disdain for contemporary British theatre and my adoration of it.

Robert Pattinson – I’ve only seen a couple of films of his and he was quite good in them. I never realised. Good for him.
The play she’s working on/his disdain for contemporary British theatre and my adoration of it ✅ – DISDAIN. I wonder how violently he expressed this disdain. And what kind of disdain? Are we talking an objection to the inflated ticket prices and toxic class divisions that keep talented paupers undiscovered? A revulsion toward Hollywood stunt casting? Or has he never got over being shoved in a restricted view seat on a trip to the panto aged 8? Anyway, yucking someone’s yum on a first date is a brave move.
Shucking oysters – I have heard of this but don’t know what it means and I think it is very important I never find out.
She asked lots of questions – The first one was ‘Are they real Birkenstocks or the dupes from Primark?’
She did a palm reading on me too and it said I’m not a good writer – One man’s funny anecdote is another’s villain origin story.

Most awkward moment?
When I told her I don’t like theatre. In retrospect, I can see why a playwright and actor would be offended by that.

In retrospect? As opposed to IMMEDIATELY REALISING or, even better, deciding not to say it at all because, yes, hearing someone say they don’t like the thing you like unprompted is like taking a pair of kitchen scissors to a bunch of balloons. Maybe… ask her some questions about why she likes it?! You’re not Gillian Anderson on Graham Norton, you can ask some questions back yourself.

Most awkward moment?
He seemed keen to show off his American accent at a few points.

Good table manners?
I’m gonna go for “impeccable”. She was very friendly and chatty to the staff too.

‘I’m gonna go for “impeccable”.’ – me picking a name for my Guardian Blind Date reviews blog in 2014. Yeah. 2014.

Good table manners?
Yes, knows his way round a wine list too!

Hates theatre and has underlying wine bore tendencies? Can’t believe eligible singletons aren’t kicking William’s door down.

Best thing about Abigail?
She has a lovely smile and a great sense of humour. I laughed a lot.

I really hope he was laughing like this. Even at things that weren’t funny.

Best thing about William?
He has lived a fantastically varied life of travels and extracurriculars. It’s good to meet people who have life by the horns.

‘Grab life by the horns’, maybe? Or ‘have life by the balls’? Not sure what’s going on here, but you know who else has horns?

(I joke, this is a lovely thing to say and I’m glad they got on so well.

Would you introduce Abigail to your friends?
Lots of my friends are performers, so they would have loads to talk about.

Ah-ha! This is why he hates theatre! His friends will not only be underpaid, frustrated performers, but they will TALK about it, and theatre, and the industry, and the (undeserved) success of others constantly, while they sit in kitchens at parties meticulously separating gritty, low-grade pub-toilet-bought coke into stringy lines. And when they do eventually say ‘So, Will, how are you?’ their Uber will be outside and they’ll have to leave in case a nepobaby gets up early the next day and steals a part from under their nose.

Would you introduce William to your friends?
I’d consider it. But he said he loves lying to strangers. That gives a woman pause.

And having parents who are two bull terriers gives a woman PAWS. I don’t know why he said this – I’m guessing context makes it sound less insane – but surely as a theatre buff Abigail will LOVE being lied to by strangers.

Describe Abigail in three words
Funny, kind-hearted, genuine.

FUNNY, like your tummy three minutes into a rumbling that sounds like it might be explosive.
KIND-HEARTED, like a dear little nun, shaking a charity tin in the freezing cold outside the train station, cheeks rosy, fingers blue, shoulders hunched. Anyway you look closer and she’s collecting to take the rest of the convent to a Chris Brown concert so it just goes to show nobody can be trusted.
GENUINE, like the fiver that same nun tucks into a stripper’s jockstrap when she stops into a go-go bar up Hackney on the way home.

Describe William in three words
Charming, roguish, amiable.

CHARMING, like Eliza Doolittle at a posh dinner party telling you the name of her favourite toilet paper.
ROGUISH, like a highwayman, but the kind of highwayman who tells you to pop your rings, necklaces, friendship bracelets and rancid, worn-out festival wristbands into a Whole Foods tote bag.
AMIABLE, like Amy Adams.

Did you go on somewhere?
We stayed at the restaurant until closing. Then she walked me back to King’s Cross so I could catch a train back to Cambridge, which was very kind.

Feels like no big deal but the restaurant is almost an hour’s walk from King’s Cross and… you don’t walk alongside someone for 52 minutes and not end the journey with a tongue tangle.

Did you go on somewhere?
I don’t kiss and tell …

Oh, but I think you just did.

And … did you kiss?
I would never say.

… see above.

Marks out of 10?
9/10.

7/10.

A 9/10 out of ten and a 7/10 out of ten? I was off school the day we did fractions. What does this mean?

Would you meet again?
We’ve shared numbers.

Is 69 one of them?

Would you meet again?
I fear his love line looked a bit unsteady. But he’s got my phone number if he’d like to tempt fate.

Maybe it’s time you both did something else with those hands of yours.

If you liked this…

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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. WHAT do you hate about theatre?!

Abigail and William ate at Kobe, London W1. Fancy a blind date? Email blind.date@theguardian.com