So after a month throwing myself into this online dating lark, I thought I was becoming quite the Veteran. I was no longer feeling sick at the thought of meeting a stranger in a pub for a drink and feeling that my small talk skills were pretty polished - it's important you don't sound like you're interviewing when trying to make conversation.
I'd met various decent-seeming guys, and friends had been asking me how it'd been going, and where my blog posts on the topic were. I naively said that everyone I'd met had been perfectly nice so far, even if they didn't all have any chemistry with me. I'd happily regale the story of No'rn Ir'on's 'mental' who got excessively pissed off after she was too busy to answer a message and labelled her a timewasting girl who clearly like to mess men about. Mentally unstable AND hates women - what a catch!
"But so far, for me, everyone's been fine!"
Talk about tempting Fate.
Friday was the fifth date with the Doctor. I wasn't convinced of the compatibility between us but there was a definite chemistry which we'd been er, acting upon, since pretty much the first time we met. (Not like that, I'm not some sort of slattern. In a rather innocent teenage type way.) He seemed to be a gent, taking me out on the heath in Hampstead for an autumnal stroll (now I've typed that, I also see how dodgy that sounds. Honestly, this cottaging lark has ruined mentioning Hampstead Heath for the rest of us. Are you reading this, Stephen Fry?) and sipping good bottles of red in cosy London pubs. The conversation was pretty good as you'd expect from an intellectual and I enjoyed his company.
After our second date, he was going away for a research trip to Budapest - upon saying goodbye, he promised to get in touch from his trip away. I said, er no, it's fine - just text me when you get back and we'll take it from there. The alarm bells should have started ringing at this point, along with the very premature coupley things like hand-holding in pubs and excessive PDAs. However, I just thought it was quite sweet that he was keen.
We carried on seeing each other, while I proclaimed to friends that I wasn't really sure about our long-term compatibility due to his a) extreme and self-admitted middle-class snobbery, b) his intellectualism and c) our very different lifestyles. As an academic, his life was the British Library, teaching students, endless coffee and erratic research hours. Mine's more 9-6 working in the City, pubs and extremely inappropriate conversations with my dear friends. I had a feeling that his softly-spoken nature might not gel that well with my friends who think nothing of telling a paedophile joke in public, or dropping the C bomb without batting an eyelid.
So, Friday - the fifth date. We arranged to meet at the German Christmas market on Southbank. He greeted me like his girlfriend outside the BFI, apparently we'd graduated from polite kissing on the cheek to all-embracing smackers. I was taken aback but suggested we go and enjoy the market delights. Working our way through Gluhwein at the BFI bar and from the stalls, we wandered and laughed at the disgusting tourist tat for sale (who actually needs a Nativity scene snow globe that lights up? Who?) and commented on how pretty the London Eye looked.
We decided to go for dinner, unremarkable food at Giraffe but a pleasing respite from the biting winds. Halfway through the meal he asked about my plans for the remainder of the weekend. I explained that I was seeing various people on Saturday afternoon but other than that, was happy to go with the flow.
"Well, it's my friend's birthday party on Saturday night and I wondered if you wanted to come and meet my friends?"
I instantly thought NO - bit soon for the whole meeting each other's friends lark. I made non-committal noises about how I wasn't sure how long my afternoon engagements would go on for, and steered away from the topic. We got back to more light-hearted chat, and went outside to finish our bottle of wine and smoke a cigarette. Now I don't know if it was the wine or what, but The Doctor was telling me how whatever it was between us, he was enjoying it and would very much like to come back to mine. I said yeah, well it is what it is and right now it seems fun so that sounds good.
Which is when the night went a bit wrong back at my place. At the most inappropriate time he probably could have picked all night, he suddenly went from “come and meet my friends” and “this chemistry is amazing” to “I’m not feeling this. We could definitely go out for a few months, and we’d have loads of fun but you’re not The One.”
Naturally, I was taken aback as I wasn’t aware that the fifth date was suddenly akin to making vows and promising yourselves to each other forever through sickness and health.
“Riiight… and this occurred to you when, after proclaiming whatever this was ‘was brilliant’ or after asking me to your friend’s birthday party?”
He then proceeded to have a small Existential crisis about what he was looking for while I looked on, baffled.
“I don’t know you very well, but in all honesty, I think you might get disappointed if you enter every alright date with the notion that this person could be your wife.”
“I over-analyse everything. I’d fuck it up. I should go.”
Yes, I think that might be wise.
The following morning, I went to make tea in the kitchen. No’rn Ir’on looked puzzled.
“Here, were you wearing pearl earrings last night?” She held up a stud that she’d found on the sofa.
“Ohh yeah, I wondered where’d they’d gone, thanks,” feeling my bare ear lobes. I explained the evening, still bemused by the remarkable U-turn and flash of issues I’d been lucky enough to be exposed to at an early stage.
She shrugged.
“At least you can get a blog post out of it now.”
True that. Thanks to the Doctor for the inspiration.
