Boots On The Other Foot

2018/10/23 – by Giles, Oxford

This is all a while back so excuse my poor memory…

We’d been chatting via messenger for a few weeks before we met and seemed to get on effortlessly, she looked gorgeous in her pictures but better still she was funny, smart, ambitious, hardworking, sexy and didn’t take any crap. Before we’d even met up I was really into her and after arranging to meet I had a growing pang of doubt that she’d be as into me when she eventually met me, her usual type was tall dark and clean shaven and I’m short, pale, bearded and fat. My consolation was that we seemed to get on well, I figured we’d just ignore the obvious disappointment, have a nice evening out, accept that friends is all it could ever be, and that’s that.

We had arranged to meet at Liverpool Street station after work, I was there early and enjoyed watching the chaos of rush hour whilst sending a message of where to meet me in the station, it may seem odd but what I did next is fairly typical for me, I tucked myself out of the way about 30 meters from where we were to meet, this is not the guy thing of if she turns up and she’s a minger I can walk away. I’d never do that it’s a horrible thing to do to someone, even if there’s no attraction whatsoever I think spending a few hours with a relative stranger and getting to know them over food and drink is a great experience. After receiving a message that she had arrived I kept my eyes peeled and by luck she walked straight past me towards our rendezvous, I casually followed 4 steps behind her happy that she’d get there look around for me and I’d say hello, but as she drew near she gingerly approached a guy who didn’t look too dissimilar to myself.

This was fantastic. I knew she had a great sense of humour with the right amount of a mean streak, time for me to get the opening salvo in. The guy looked like a rabbit in headlights as a beautiful blonde introduced herself to him, unfortunately I didn’t see her facial expressions (not that unfortunate those jeans looked fantastic on her) I expect it was one of annoyance from her dates apparent nonchalance at her arrival. He managed to get out of the headlights and look at the giggling idiot behind the beautiful blonde, she turned to see what he was looking at, the penny dropped and luckily the date didn’t end there, emboldened from the practical joke and simply from how much I liked her already I automatically kissed her on the lips rather than her cheek and then with nerves and excitement I took her hand and lead her away to dinner.

Dinner was great apart from I managed to order a horrendously strong cocktail but the company was perfect. The venue was quiet enough to hear each other but not so quiet that we couldn’t talk freely without everyone hearing our conversation. We chatted about all sorts, there was no pretentiousness just nice company, it’s hard to know what’s real versus wishful thinking but for me it felt like our eyes kept meeting like there was a second conversation going on between us. The one about climbing Snowdon and running and work and the one where our best hopes of who would turn up had been fulfilled.

Dinner was followed by a long walk along the river, all the way down to Embankment (I think she was wearing heels too) we stopped a few times, the view was okay but I’ve seen it 100 times before, I just wanted to be close to her and kiss her.
I’ve found that hotel bars are typically quieter and easier to get seats in than bars in London, for me this is important particularly on a date as I prefer talking to someone on rather than shouting at them over banging dance music, and as part of the whole chivalry thing I want to take a date somewhere she can sit. It risks giving the wrong message but the thought of booking a room on the first date is cringe worthy, there are rarely any short cuts in life, if you want something great it takes time to build, chemistry between people is no different.

That being said the chemistry was not in short supply as we got closer and closer drinking cocktails. There was kissing and touching even a whack in the bollocks but that was down to some exuberant gesticulation on her part. Soon it was time to head back for her last train. As we waited in Liverpool Street for her train, we talked a bit and kissed a bit more.

I don’t believe in waiting a certain amount of time before you text a date etc. if you’ve got something to say then say it, so probably before she’d even managed to find a seat I’d text her.

The Teetotaller

2018/09/26 – by Nelly, London

After chatting to this guy for a few weeks after him suggesting to meet up, I thought why not, no harm in a few drinks.

I met up with him in a local bar and when I arrived he bought me a drink – lovely. He did not drink, which is fine, each to their own. However making me feel bad for drinking is not so fine. Neither is making out that I’m some sort of slut ‘who, no offence, must have done this loads of times’ – right, nice.

As the evening went on, it became more and more clear that there was no spark at all. We had nothing in common. I tried talking about travelling; he’d never really been anywhere and didn’t even have a passport. I tried talking about food – he was a fussy eater. Talking to him, he really didn’t seem to have much to say about himself. Him and his friends sounded a bit like the Inbetweeners.

I felt like I was really scraping the barrel for conversation and it was exhausting. Eventually it got to five to 9, this was back in the summer so Love Island was still on. I remember looking at my phone and thinking I’d really rather watch Love Island with a cup of tea. I made my excuses and he walked me home.

I didn’t message him back and he didn’t message me, I think he got the idea that I just wasn’t that into him. If this date showed me one thing, it’s that a good chat is really important to me. Yes, sex is great and an important part of a relationship but sometimes you do just need a proper conversation.


2018/09/12 – by RJ, Preston

First things first – I love a good burger. I mean, who doesn’t? Despite the title, there’s nothing I find more satisfying than demolishing a tower of bread, meat and a bit of veg whilst you chit chat about life.

My date started out okay I guess. We’d known each other from work and got on quite well – he was cute, in a nerdy sort of way – so when he asked me out I thought why not. I’m not the most experienced when it comes to dating, and he was fairly quiet as a person, so I was a bit nervous when I strolled up to the restaurant.

He was a gentleman, pulling out my chair and taking my coat, but when we sat down, the awkwardness got a little more pronounced, and I found the only thing we really had in common was work. Fun conversation. It was…okay until we came to ordering.

Now, on a date, I tend to steer clear of all things messy as I’m sure many people do, so I was looking more towards a nice risotto or something. Then, my date said he was going to get a burger. Finger food is fine with me – I’m not fussy – but everyone knows if you get a burger its probably gonna go all round your face. But, probably stupidly, I thought that if he was getting a burger I should get one too, and we could have a giggle about smears of tomato ketchup that would no doubt end up doubling as lipstick for the both of us.

So, we ordered. I ordered my burger and then he ordered…a chicken burger. Yeah, chicken. I don’t know why I felt put off by that slightly, maybe I have a subconscious aversion to chicken in a burger, which I would always associate with beef? I don’t know. But I tried not to think about it too much and the date continued at a steady, if not slightly stuttering pace. Then the burgers came. He picks up his knife and fork. I’m cringing in my head at what I know is about to happen.

He cuts his burger.

The only acceptable time (in my eyes anyways) to cut a burger is if it is one of those massive stacks where you have absolutely no chance to fit it in your mouth without half of it sliding out the other side. I’m looking at his little, flat and slightly grey piece of chicken in a burger that was more bun than filling and thinking….why? He could have eaten that with minimal mess, probably all in one mouthful it was that small, yet he still chose to cut it. And its not like he cut it into half and picked that up, nope. He fully cut it the way mothers do for their small children.

So it made me feel rude to not follow suit. I only cut mine in half but it was still a sad sight. There are some things you just don’t cut. Pizza. Pasta. Burgers. The date concluded pretty quickly after that – I ended up walking him to his car and we parted ways amicably, never to return for another burger-cutting, work-centred-convo travesty.

Maybe its just me, and you’re reading this thinking “what is her problem?” but its something that really genuinely bugged me. At least he left the company shortly after.