Fit.

Posted by Lucy Robinson at 02:23 on 5 Aug 2010

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Bloody hell. It was like being on an internet date. Worse, really, because at 2pm it was not really feasible for me to down a bottle of wine as if it were orange squash (this being my standard ice-breaker when dating). It was a sober date in the middle of the day when he could view my newly-sprouted acne and streaming nose in full technicolour glory. "I can't believe he's putting me through this," I thought resentfully. "The cruelty of it!"

Then I remembered that we were on a work meeting rather than a date, and told myself to shut the hell up.


So.

I walked in. He was hovering slightly nervously waiting for me. When we kissed on the cheek by way of greeting I of course nutted him in the cheekbone. Then as we went to get a table I crashed into his back, thinking that he was about to walk to the table at the back of the cafe whereas in fact he was stopping to sit down at the table next to us. I apologised into the back of his coat and he looked frightened. Standard dating fayre, all things considered.

We sat down. I realised that he really was quite lovely-looking. He asked me loads of stuff about myself. After the feedback from my date with Stephen the journalist, I did my best to steer the conversation away from the subject of me but he was very persistent. He managed to drag all sorts of things out of me.

I don't quite know how to tell you this but I (somehow) even admitted that I had started planning this trip when I was heartbroken after splitting up with my ex. I know, I know. If I have learned anything from The Rules it is to shut the f*ck about your previous love life, with special reference to ANY situation involving your heart being broken. I blame his jumper. It was lovely. Soft and woolly with a nice casual shirt poking out from underneath. I love that preppy thing (providing they're a bit scruff elsewhere - I like a poorly-shaven face or a bad haircut to balance out preppy clothes. Men who are preppy all the way bring me out in a feverish rash; I want to throw a can of paint over them and take them to a piercing shop.)

Anyway. I managed to make him talk about himself eventually and it turns out he's a really interesting chap with all sorts of accomplishments and strings to his bow. He's even from the same bloomin part of the world as me. It was all perfect!

Then his phone rang and it was his girlfriend who was locked out of their apartment and then my eyes glazed over and I realised that I will be single for the rest of my life because whenever I meet a man who is remotely cool I always discover that some other girl got there first I will be single forever it is true I will die with cats that is it the end goodbye.



Sorry. I'm only joking. I'm not that depressed. (I don't think so anyway.) More resigned.

There is a positive ending to the story though. My housemate and I are being evicted rather unceremoniously from our apartment and have been looking at other properties. (This kind of thing is pretty normal, I'm learning. "THEY CAN'T DO THAT!" I raged in my most British of accents. My housemate, who's been here several years, merely laughed.) Anyway, we found a good place today and while we waited for the man to come and show us round (he was an hour and a half late, natch) we took up residence in the rather cool little cafe across the road. And readers, I'm not joking, as soon as we sat down this bloody STREAM of hot men walked in. They just kept on coming. Loads of them. Wearing nice jumpers. And scarves. And coats. They had nice hair. And nice faces. And nice laptops, not that I give a rat's arse about technology but still. More and more of them came in, and still no women! It was amazing! We have decided that we are taking the apartment no matter what. And I will be conducting all my business affairs from that cafe. If I can't find love in that treasure trove of nice-jumpered men then there is no hope for me.

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