The Date

In my book, there are three basic tick boxes for a Successful Date:

1. Excitement beforehand
Either you can remember what he looks like and your heart is a-flutter, or you are blissfully unaware having been blind drunk when you swapped numbers; no matter. In your mind, an Adonis awaits.

2. Excitement during
Your eyes meet and you think "Ooh, hello". You both smile, conversation abounds and you make any excuse to hold eye, hand or foot contact. Kiss me, you think. A lot.

3. Excitement afterwards
Having prolonged the date for as long as possible, you make a reluctant journey towards the tube. You string out your goodbye before a momentarily awkward, then fleetingly lovely kiss in front of bemused commuters. Texts are exchanged on the way home. It is agreed in suitably clichéd fashion, that you both had "a really lovely time tonight xx". Arrive home in daze.

Conclusion: Awww.

Now, let's look at the alternative: The Less Successful Date

1. Fear, dread and regret beforehand
The days / hours leading up to Date O'Clock are full of what can only be described as sheer terror. "Fuck, how can I get out of this one?" you think, hastily agreeing to an early cinema time so that you can make a quick escape if need be. You pray for an unavoidable yet believable situation (dog unwell? parents stuck in lift?) that would warrant cancellation.

2. Sinking feeling and awkwardness during
Any hope that a dehabilitating virus would strike during the Hours Before are quashed. You approach the meeting point at the agreed time to see him outside, ready, waiting, tickets in hand. Conversation flows, but you're secretly relieved when the lights dim, the film starts, and you can sit in silence. The credits roll. "Dinner?" he suggests. Mhhhrrr, you think. "Sure, why not?" you say. To avoid wondering aimlessly around Soho, you suggest the closest restaurant you can find. Dark, busy and intimate looking from the outside, you are instead led upstairs to a brightly lit overflow dining room, filled with empty tables and a lonely waiter. You fiddle incessantly with your necklace. You look anywhere but at him. Topics of conversation include recent London riots, politics (urgh) and the perils of job hunting. Extra emphasis is put on how tired, busy and stressed you are; all of which could feasibly be construed as reasons to avoid "doing this again" at a later date. One course is consumed. He pays. Citing a long journey back to the sticks, you begin the walk back to the tube.

3. Arrrghhh, eeeeek and relief afterwards
Having dreaded the inevitable parting of ways all night, you reach the bottom of the escalator at Tottenham Court Road station and thank him, while inwardly squirming at what might come next. Finally, the moment arrives. You both lean in. He tilts his head. Your lips remain firmly closed as you turn whatever it was going to be into a peck. There's a polite goodbye, followed by blessed relief as you make your hasty retreat onto a separate line. You get home and fire off a short text to say you arrived back, and thanking him for the night.


Conclusion: Phew. It's over.