The Intriguing Case of the Guardian Columnist

From the rather fab Sell! Sell! blog

After the non-disaster-but-still-failure of Phillip, I cooled off the ol' dating for a while. I was getting increasingly despondent about the lack of decent guys anywhere; and what messages I did get, all seemed to be sent by idiots. Here is a small selection of the gems I received:

"Crumbs... you're a bit of a cutey aren't you!" (Are we in the 1950s?)

"Well, I had said I'd stay away from sweet things this year, and then I went and messaged you!" (Delete.)


"i spy with my little eye a mcfittie" (This sent from someone who's profile picture was him with a beard of foam.)

"Hi" (Genuinely, that was it. Not even a full stop, let alone a 'how are you'.)

"Hi !" (See above.)

And many others along those lines. Good for making me laugh, not good for making me not single.

Over summer I just focused on work and friends and having a good time really. I don't really get approached in bars... ever. It's weird. Not that I particularly want to be hounded, but it would be nice to get some attention. Still. Never mind.

So late August-ish, I wasn't really looking, but an interesting proposition popped up. I had been following the My Love Life in Your Hands column in the Guardian for a while, and also had been following him on twitter too. Along with some 'helpful' tweets from a friend, we struck up a rapport and in no uncertain terms I suggested, hintedy-hint, that I was single, he was looking for dates, nudge nudge. Anyway, if you're unaware of his rather charming column concept, every week he had a decision to make, one which the general Guardian readership made for him. One week, it was chosen that he join the dating site DoingSomething.co.uk, of which, lo and behold, I was also a member of. After a cryptic twitter DM, asking that he might need my help, he sent me in the direction of his profile.

Now. By very virtue of his chosen profession (anonymous Guardian column writer), we had agreed, theoretically, to perhaps meeting, before I even knew his real name, let alone what he looked like. To protect his identity (and the fact he still operates behind the My Life Your Hands name, and that I bear him no ills) I obviously won't tell you his real name, or anything really else about him, that isn't important to the story. So we shall just stick to calling him MyLifeYourHands, akin to some kind of robot-droid name from the future.

I'm pretty relaxed about writing all this though, and I'm sure he is, because of course, a clause of me dating him would be that he would write about me. How the tables have turned! I ummed and ahhed, but thought, why the hell not. It was anonymous, after all. Also, I'm a slight attention seeker, being a Leo, so, I would get to say that I'd been in the Guardian! Sort of. Aha.

However, all was not as it seemed. The next message from him (slightly edited, it was a tad long) went along the lines of...

"I have a slight problem insofar as that I have some work coming up this week and it's playing havoc with my column deadlines.
Basically, I need to make sure that I've got someone to go out with as a result of signing up here sometime this week, so that I have a story to write whilst I'm away.
What would be amazing is if I could use you as my safeguard in this whole thing. Someone that I can rely on if I don't meet someone on here 'naturally', as it were.
I know that is an obscenely horrid ask - not to mention desperately unromantic - but, as thanks for being my back up, I promise I will definitely take you and buy you drinks, regardless of what happens.
I'll happily answer any questions, I've got nothing to hide so I will be totally honest and upfront with you
What do you think? Could you be prepared to sign on for that?"

My first thought was, gee, he doesn't even want to actually date me, for me, at all. It's just fodder to fill the column inches. I am NOTHING (dramatic swoon). But then I thought, as is typical to me, I shall prove him wrong! I shall go on a date with him and it'll be the best damn date he's EVER BEEN ON! And Guardian readers will all be like 'Oh em gee this girl is amaze!' (All Guardian readers are from Essex in this story.)

And, in his defence, at least he was honest. He didn't have to be honest at all. Seeing as he wrote an anonymous, albeit nationwide-ly-published column about girls, without telling them, he didn't have to tell me. So, I agreed.

It turned out that he was speaking to two other girls on there too, so I needn't have been his backup in the end anyway. And, in turned out that the Guardian readers, in their wisdom, picked me for him to date anyway, so all wasn't as bad as it seemed: http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/poll/2011/aug/25/my-love-life-in-your-hands  I'm the 'one with the cutesy screen name'. It's not that cutesy! =/

On Doing Something, there's this cool little feature to 'Spin the wheel of date', which picks your date venue/activity for you. Actually really fun. Our spinning brought us Tea and Cake at the Coach & Horses off Greek St - I love tea. I love cake. Good times.

So the time of the date arrived. I was very nervous. Admittedly, he wasn't really my type from the off - his profile picture confirmed that before I met him - but, he wasn't unattractive. And I'd learned recently that 'my type' is probably the 'wrong type' anyway. The date was actually reeeaaally good. We had great conversation, talked about anything and everything (from male strippers to the perils of old age) and generally had a lovely time.

Here is what he wrote about me. He refers to me as Rebecca - that's not my real name. My name is much nicer. Not that you'll ever know what it is.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/poll/2011/sep/01/my-love-life-in-your-hands

So there. A glowing, however short, review. I do like being referred to as 'spiky and sardonic'. I might put that in my email signature.

I wasn't sure if there was loads of chemistry, but enough, and we could definitely be friends, potentially more, if I could get over the nagging feeling I was being used for literary hilarity/killing time. It struck me (and he sort of alluded to it on the date) that he was getting tired of the endless procession of dates and pressure to always have something to write about. And, as was well documented on the column, he had already met someone he really really liked - she was just in a foreign country, and he had obligations to see the column come to a natural close. BUT, we had a lot of fun. I worked my ass off trying to prove that I could be more than just 'back up'. So, I did hope we would have a second date. Time would tell....

Read Round 2 here!

Same Story, Different Guy.

Bonjour catastrophe-loving followers! Hope you all had a good Halloween? I did - but I can't share until I've caught up with all my dates so far. Can't very well do things out of chronological order can we? That would be totes confusing.

Photo taken from here.

So, after the utter disaster that was Cameron Huntingdon and his wig wearing ways, you'd think I'd have been scarred for life on the whole online dating front, right? Well, no. Bravely, I decided to march on, even after metaphorically taking a huge hit on the front line.

Also, I'd already arranged a date with another guy before the wig horror, so I couldn't really back out. But MAINLY I was taking a huge hit on the front line.

This is one of those stories that isn't particularly a disaster, just a classic dating story. I met Phillip* on Tastebuds, as per usual, and after a few messages and liking the look of his profile picture (he only had the one... I should have been/am now always wary of people with only one picture) we agreed to meet for a drink. Learning from the last date, I didn't factor any dinner into this equation - a drink usually means an easier way to escape. Also, I'm not a fan of dinner on the first date with someone you've never met before.

We had a lot in common, it seemed; he too was a fellow creative type, and ran his own review website. We liked similar music too, which is always a plus. I decided it would be nice to meet along the Southbank - perfect first date ground; lots of people to watch, loads of options for food and drink, quite romantic (Thames and all) but, selfishly, really easy for me (and him, actually) to get home from!! Ha. We met at the BFI - They have a bar on the top floor with great views of the Thames, pretty cool.

I was meeting him after work, running a bit late. Finally got there and met him - I had a sly check, pretty sure he wasn't wearing a wig. Check. However - he was tall. Reeeeaally tall. Probably my fault for not checking his profile properly, but he was about a foot taller than me. I'm not a midget - average at 5'4" - but he must have been over 6fit, definitely. I like guys to be a bit taller than me, but anything over 6ft I don't feel comfortable with. I don't like being constantly looked down on, or having to stand on tiptoes to kiss, and - this is generally speaking - taller gents usually appear on the lanky side. Now, I do like a skinny guy, but tall and skinny - not really my cup of tea.

Never mind, I thought, lets not rule him out yet. It's not on looks alone! He was not, however, as attractive as his profile picture, and I realised later this was probably because his picture was in black and white. Everyone looks better in black and white. I should have realised this. He did look mostly the same IRL, but he had a tad bit of the spotty face going on (not judging - just saying - I get spots too) but that's really hard to be attracted to when he's not ticking all the other boxes. I was genuinely disappointed. Le sigh.

Despite my shallow observations, we had a really lovely date, had a few drinks, walked along the Thames, then went for some cocktails in a cool bar elsewhere, and got on very well. Really well, I can't fault him, he was lovely company and I felt very relaxed and at ease. But - and here comes the cliché - there just wasn't a spark. (We'll probably discuss the spark another day - I'm not even sure it exists.) I wasn't staring at his face, eager to get to the end of the date to kiss him, nor was I daydreaming about the next date. He was a really nice guy, and I could definitely have seen myself being friends with him, but there you go. What can you do? There just wasn't the physical attraction, and, no matter what anybody says, no matter how amazing someone is, if you don't fancy them, then there is probably no romantic future.

However, at the end of the date, he leant forward to kiss me, and I - taken by surprise, but also hoping maybe it would provide a breakthrough (I so wanted to like him) - kissed him back. I didn't pull away because I wanted to know, once and for all, if there was going to be a spark. Anything. But no, in fact, the opposite. I walked away feeling a little bit... grossed out. THAT'S not supposed to happen when you kiss someone, is it?! He wasn't a terrible kisser, it was just.. not right for me, at all.

Anyway, I relayed this to my long-suffering friends, and my housemate, in particular, came out with the p-bomb: "You're way too picky!"

ME? Picky?! What? I... didn't believe her at first. Surely not - I can't help it if I didn't feel anything for the guy! My gut was telling me he wasn't right for me, but I was so worried that maybe I am picky - god help me - that I listened to her convince me to go on a second date with him.

"You might learn to like him", she said. And then regaled me with the tale of her current boyf, who at first she didn't like that much at all but now is madly in love. Humph, I thought.

Anyway, I listened to her, grudgingly, and when he text me again asking me out, I agreed. At first, actually, he asked me if I wanted to go round his house for dinner - but that was super alarm bells. a) I had previously learned he still lived with his parents, but apparently he had a 'free house', hence the dinner b) nobody calls it a free house anymore, not since we were 15. c) We all know what he was after d) he lives proper out in the 'burbs of Greater London and frankly, I couldn't be arsed.

So we met for a drink again, in a pub this time, and again, the date was fine, but I just couldn't find it anywhere within me to like him romantically. I tried, honestly, but sometimes, things just don't work out. He walked me to the station and I quickly realised - quelle horreur - that he was going to kiss me again. I did not want to. BUT - you can't not kiss someone on the second date, if you've kissed them on the first date! Surely.

I admit it - I panicked. When he zeroed in for the kiss, I sort of pulled back, said something along the lines of "No... er.. sorry..." Or some such other nonsense. His face said it all - pure disbelief/pain/horror. Oh god. I said 'bye and ran away.

All the way home I felt sooo guilty - I should have just explained, listen, I really like you, but just as friends, that sort of thing. Not recoil in disgust and run away like a weirdo when he tried to kiss me.

I texted him a week later, after Easter, to see how he was etc, (was feeling a tad guilty) but no reply. I genuinely would have liked to keep him as a friend; I don't know a huge amount of people in London, and he was cool. Alas, he has never spoken to me again.

This kind of story seems to happen a lot to me - they seem to like me, I just don't feel anything back. Do you ever get things like that? How do you know how you feel? Are you scared you're a bit too picky for your own good? What if you'll never feel anything for anyone ever again?! (OR is that just me?)

And the moral of this story? Always trust your gut, and ignore friends who think you are picky. You are not picky. You just know what you want. Probably. Maybe.