epsiode 27

Back to Basics - Part Two

So, the day of my first (and perhaps last) lonely heart's column date dawned and I was really trying to remain positive. I got ready, put on my heels but as a matter of defiance I didn't straighten my hair. I wore make-up but not too much, and at the appointed time I walked out of the back entrance of my apartment block, round the village before arriving at the pub which was across from my building from a totally different direction. And they said I'd be no good in MI5.
I had received a text from him saying he was there and 'my donkey is parked around the corner.' I steeled myself and resisted bolting, I'd asked for a yacht, which he probably didn't have but I was pretty sure he didn't have a donkey either. The pub was pretty empty so I spotted the lone man straight away and he spotted me. Immediately I knew that this wasn't going to be the love of my life, and before you tell me that I shouldn't judge on appearances if you don't find someone remotely attractive then you just don't.
He firstly pointed out that he'd got a cold sore; 'bad timing,' he guffawed, (yes I didn't know people really did that either until I met him). I lost my appetite especially as he kept accusing me of staring at it, which meant I had to look at the table. Then he went to get the drinks (I had a diet coke before you ask) and we chose lunch.
'I think I'll have a sandwich. A BLT,' I said, decisively.
'What about the ham and mustard?' he replied.
'I'm not sure.'
'So I'll get two of those then?'
'No, I want a BLT, please.'
He went off, although he hesitated and I wondered if I should offer to get up. I didn't. When he returned we tried to have a conversation, not easy as I was still staring at the table. He told me about the village he lived in, his job as a gardener, that had been single for two years, never married and wasn't keen on texting. He liked to swim in the sea in the mornings and occasionally went out disco dancing.
I told him about my tragic story, and how I had recently moved to the village from London. It turned out he'd been to London only recently. See, we had loads in common. Thankfully the lunch arrived and it seemed he had ordered two BLTs despite the indication that his preference was ham and mustard.
It went rapidly downhill.
'Do you do topiary?' I asked.
'No, but I know a woman who can do bears and chickens. I trim them for her.' After an awkward lunch, he suggested a walk. As he'd driven an hour I felt that the least I could do was give him the village tour. Although I pointed out that I was wearing heels.
'You could go and change your shoes and I'll pretend not to look at where you live.' I declined the kind offer and said, no, my shoes were perfectly comfortable.
We walked to the beach. It was a lovely day, although he kept complaining he was too hot but hadn't wanted to risk want to risk wearing shorts. I was thankful for that. But then he ruined it when we spotted Speedo man coming out of the sea.
'I gave up wearing Speedos a few years ago.' It was no longer just the cold sore making my stomach churn.
We set off for the rest of the tour, which really is just a quick walk around the village.
'Oh look there's a sign for a charity shop,' he pointed out.
'Do you want to go?' I asked, incredulously.
'Sure.' So, for the first time ever in my life, my date included going to a charity shop, where, and I promise this is true, he nearly bought a fax machine.
'Look at that,' he said, pointing.
'It's a fax machine,' I helpfully said.
'Good isn't it. I mean that would be useful.'
It was only my intervention that stopped it, because, you know, I wasn't going to walk round the village with a man and his charity shop fax machine. No way.
As we walked, we talked about the ad. He still couldn't believe I wrote it as a joke. But I said, why did he reply if he thought it was serious? He looked at me as if I was speaking Urdu. I pointed out that he didn't have a yacht, or a private jet. In fact I had asked for men who were 34-40 years old and he was forty-four. According to what he told me he wasn't even 'well-established.' Unless he took that to mean mature. He was confused but boy, I was even more so.
We went to the gorgeous Kipling gardens. He told me what every plant was, and if he hadn't just annoyed me by making me feel like more of a fraud than him I might even have listened.
'Do you like gardens?' he asked.
'No, not at all,' I replied, feeling a little frustrated by a whole bunch of things. It was getting harder to cope with this guy who wasn't nasty or anything but was annoying the hell out of me. He wanted to sit down and talk, so I sat on the bench outside the gardens (my feet were thankful even if I wasn't.). He wasn't ready to let the ad issue drop.
'Look,' I said. 'I am single, I am looking to date so that's all true, it was just the words of the ad that were a joke.' He still didn't get it. Then he started moaning about texting again.
'That's why I was fed up when you didn't answer my call, because how did I know you were real?' He had a point. I began to think perhaps I wasn't real anymore. As we talked, a wedding party arrived and the photographer started snapping away, with, I fear, us in the background.
'Would you like to get married?' Don't worry guys I didn't take this as a proposal.
'Never.' I lied, just in case. Then I suggested we perhaps were ruining the photos so we started to move again.
The final straw came when he took a call and told whoever it was on the other line that he wasn't sure he was going to make it tonight because he didn't know what 'we' were doing. I politely said that I had urgent washing up and asked where he was parked.
'Miles away up there,' he said.
'Why, there's a car park attached to the pub.'
'I didn't know there would be any spaces.'
'Did you check?' I asked as I knew there were plenty of spaces. He shook his head. I thanked him for a lovely time and then left.

Having had to take the long route home I reflected on my latest adventure. My expectations had been low, I did feel bad for the guy because there was nothing wrong with him, (well apart from the things that were). I felt guilty. I felt as if I was in the wrong. No more lonely hearts ads for me. I decided then and there that I wouldn't reply to the guy who asked if I had a thing about pirates (I do), or the guy who in his message called me Linda and said he was romantic and liked cuddling. No, instead, as I kicked off my high heels, and put on my slippers, I only had one question left. Did he go back and buy the fax machine? I would put money on that he did.