Gone Fishing
My Very Worst Date was when I lived in London, aged 23. A colleague had set me up on a blind date. On the phone beforehand, he seemed fine and normal. We arranged to meet in the centre of London, then go for dinner and the cinema. When I arrived, I had a message on my phone telling me to just call him when I arrived as he only lived five mins away, and he’d come then. I phoned him as he asked. Ten minutes later, a man walked past me, stopped and said, “Come on then” and carried on walking without looking at me once. When I caught up with him, I realised he had orange paint all round his neck, his suit looked as if it had been scrunched up on the floor for a week and his breath smelled like he’d just woken up. Unfortunately I was right on all counts. He’d been out the previous night and couldn’t be bothered to wash properly or look out clean clothes. Nice.
He suggested we went to a place famous for its fish dishes. I explained that I don’t eat fish or seafood, so I would prefer somewhere else. He dragged me into the nearest bar and bought us a Diet Coke each (didn’t even ask me what I wanted) and then set out to name every fish he could think of and asked me whether I would eat it. And seemed surprised when I said no, to each one. Eventually I said I was bored of this. He then asked me whether I ate cheese. When I said I did, he spent the next 30 mins talking about cheese. Literally just cheese. The differences between Camembert and Brie, the best place to buy Stilton, his top cheese for a cheese board. Then we went to the cinema. I can’t remember what the film was, but at some point in the film, Jack Nicholson is in a boat in a lake, fishing. At this point my date leaned over and said in a loud whisper: “You might want to close your eye for this bit as it’s got fish in it.”
I then pretended to get a text from a housemate saying I was needed at home and fled.
