Grauniad Soulmates
My first attempt at internet dating. LeggyLizzie or some such handle and I corresponded pleasantly. She looked more than a tad pleasing, and didn't have the wearing internet dating habit of giving herself a handle to describe herself (e.g. LeggyLiz, BustyBabs, etc.) and then posting only head & shoulders photos, so the viewer could tell that she did actually have nice legs rather than wobbly spinning-top shaped bags of cellulite.

She seemed to reciprocate, so we swapped phone numbers and had several fun conversations. She was very posh - like a young Joanna Lumley to talk to. This is no bad thing. Anyway, we agreed to meet the following Saturday morning at 10am and hang out during the day, with no pressure. She lived in London, I in Swindon (!) so it would be a day out for me even if the date went bad. So I trundled into Paddington, got the Tube to Kensington (where she had "one of her flats") and rang her, as agreed, on her mobile once I got there.

She was surprised that I rang. Almost as surprised as I was that her first words were "Oh, was that today? I'll be a bit late - I've just woken up. I'm staying with friends in Wimbledon - let's meet up for lunch later once I've got my shit together." I was in a good mood, and that part of West London isn't the worst place to have to kill a couple of hours, so I mooched around Kensington, Hyde Park, Bayswater etc. - forgoing food 'cos we'd be eating later.

Much later, as it turned out. At about 2.30pm, she phoned to say she was back at home and for me to come over. She gave me the address so I headed over there and rang the bell. She buzzed me up into a rather impressive looking Victorian building in Kensington High Street, into a small flat with lots of dark wood panelling and antique furniture. She was not without cash, then. When she let me in, she was in the middle of an argument with her tenant because he'd left a hot mug of tea on the dining table and left a white ring on it. This was preoccupying her so much that she decided that she'd just have to phone the John Lewis furniture department to find out if they had anything to get rid of such marks.

Not later on, right there and then. So I'm standing around like a lemon while she phones John Lewis, asks for the furniture department, tries to explain the problem to someone who (it sounds like) doesn't speak English as a first language, gets frustrated after 15 minutes (yes, that long) and asks to speak to the department manager, and starts again at the beginning with him or her. At about the point where she's holding for the manager, I'm so bored (but still optimistic I might get to see the legs in person) that I phoned my mum to ask her how best to get rid of white marks from dark wood. She suggested cigar ash would do the trick.

I suggested this to Liz, who then cut short her (by now almost hour-long) conversation with every member of staff at the local John Lewis branch, and decided that we must now go out and buy cigars to make ash to get the stain out. And maybe have a spot of lunch and actually talk to one another. She was so polite and apologetic for the so far disastrous date, and her legs really were rather fab - believe it or not, she'd changed out of her jeans into a skirt in front of me while clamping her phone to her ear with her shoulder to free her hands. Again, no bad thing.

So we ventured out into Kensington High St. It's now about 4 pm, and I was getting seriously hungry, so this is another Good Thing. Trouble is, as we walk down the street, she loudly expounds on how the area is going to the dogs since all the fucking Arabs moved in and it was nothing like as nice an area as it looked. I did jokingly (well, half-jokingly) ask her to keep her voice down, to which she replied "oh don't worry, none of them speak any English anyway". From the way the frowns and scowls of passers-by timed with the more outrageous casual racism of her rantings, I think most of the locals understood colloquial English rather well, but we soon found a tobacconist and got her the packet of Hamlets she was after.

Then, finally, her thoughts turned to "We should eat - you must be famished". Er, yes please. "Right, follow me". Where did we go on this sunny spring metropolitan afternoon? A curry house. Where she ordered a starter and main course, as did I. Then, when the starter arrived, she cancelled her main because, as she said "I had lunch in Wimbledon before I left".

It wasn't a disaster - she was good company all the while, despite being a disorganised solipsistic bigot - but after "lunch" I decided to go home. We parted on good terms, but didn't stay in touch afterwards. (I think she thought I wasn't Bohemian enough.)

It didn't put me off internet dating - I met the future Mrs Shinyshinyscalp on Soulmates (after many more dates with other women I met online, none quite as oddly memorable as this one).
( shinyshinyscalp less a man, more a way of life, Thu 20 Oct 2011, 13:32, 4 replies)

What is wrong with the following sentence?
"My first attempt at internet dating. LeggyLizzie or some such handle and I corresponded pleasantly. She looked more than a tad plasing, and didn't have the wearing internet dating habit of giving herself a handle to describe herself (e.g. LeggyLiz, BustyBabs, etc.)"
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Thu 20 Oct 2011, 14:24, closed)

What is wrong is that you've chopped the end of it off, as it continues:
"and then posting only head & shoulders photos, so the viewer could tell that she did actually have nice legs rather than wobbly spinning-top shape bags of cellulite."

*click* for the story, in any case. :-)
( benryves Now I'm radioactive! That can't be good!, Thu 20 Oct 2011, 14:47, closed)

personally
I'm having trouble with 'wearing'. how the fuck do you wear an internet dating habit? is it some type of nun thing?
I like nuns.
(Gritty, yet fluffy. kipperpillock is obsessed with me =), Thu 20 Oct 2011, 14:56, closed)

Wearing as in abrasive, not as in the Spandex anorak you're resplendent in

( shinyshinyscalp less a man, more a way of life, Thu 20 Oct 2011, 15:03, closed)

it could be an abrasive spandex anorak
but then again, why would you wear one of those?
(softporn 70's sink fixer, Thu 20 Oct 2011, 19:05, closed)

why WOULDN'T you?

(Gritty, yet fluffy. kipperpillock is obsessed with me =), Fri 21 Oct 2011, 9:02, closed)

Sounds like you dodged a bullet on that one.
Not a complete psycho, but pretty unhinged (actually, pretty self-obsessed, which is just as bad) all the same.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Thu 20 Oct 2011, 18:21, closed)