Stats: 5’8″, 38, greying/blue, Essex
When: July 2011
Where: Pimlico, SW1
Pre-date rating: 6/10
So we’re on another summer of “yes”, it would seem. My iPhone calendar heaves with dates and I’m looking as ravaged as only one can when one has been necking beers in a variety of pubs with a slew of strangers.
As a result of my packed schedule, which I pore over with all the enthusiasm of a dead cat, it is a few weeks between arranging a date with The Guy and actually going on it. He first contacts me during a busy period at work. He says the usual intro stuff: he likes my profile, I seem interesting, would like to know more – truly the “Do you come here often?” of the internet dating world. I peruse his profile and he seems nice, intelligent, friendly. He doesn’t look anything special on his pictures but my recent experience has shown that pictures are so ridiculously unrepresentative of the men who post them that he may well be an adonis in the flesh. Yeah, I know. I live in hope, at least
Anyway, we exchange a few pleasantries over email and then he goes in with the whammy of asking me out on a date. I think about this. If I’m honest with myself, which is always important but devastatingly rare, I don’t really want to go. He’s a little older than I am looking for, and beyond the niceties we’ve exchanged, I’m struggling to see what we’ll have in common. I do, however, feel that I have led him on slightly by keeping up the dialogue. By now we have taken it to email, as his subscription on the dating site was about to expire. He mails me again and suggests meeting for dinner in Pimlico. Shit. For some reason it is beyond my capability to refuse him outright. So, turning gradually more yellow by the second, I avoid the email for a couple of days. He sends the exact same email again. Continue reading The Banker