My friend recently joined Guardian Soulmates. We sat in her office and she typed in 'men between 50-60' who live within a 10 mile radius of my postcode and up they came – the big, the bearded, the bald. I saw one guy who I am sure is a teacher from my son’s school. One man's profile says he is passionate about dogs. Not one for me then. Another man's profile says he cares massively about the planet as should we all but what does it mean. Does he want to do his and hers composting? Save bathwater? As a personality trait in a future lover, maybe it’s not top of my list. In any case I would have low expectations from the whole Internet Dating thing as in real life the people who seem to be attracted to me are usually candidates for care in the community.
They’ve all got that look. The intent stare that initially I take for interest and only realize is madness when they get close enough to come properly into focus.
Case study: I went to see Phill Jupitus in a comedy thing at the Trafalgar Studios. I know Phill from my days as a restaurant critic when he agreed to come out for a greasy spoon breakfast with me in Soufend and so when I saw he was starring in Life Coach, I begged a ticket. Saturday comes, as usual, after Friday and the weekend unfolds with a chore in every crease: Ikea for a bed for the teenager, assemble said bed, replace jammed light bulb in bathroom, fill up drawers vacated by husband with all my clothes (ie two t-shirts that fit and seven thousand that don’t) – just the general domestic stuff that pads my life likeKapok. In the midst of it, however, a visit to the theatre stands like a big sunflower with its face turned to the light. I put on one of the t shirts that doesn't fit, and an overdress thing that hides the shrinkage and I turned up alone, got my free ticket from the box office and stood there awkwardly waiting for the doors to open.
I spotted the man immediately. Tall, stooped, carrying a large briefcase with a great number of zips that I was soon to become intimately acquainted with. Our eyes locked for a second and then I flicked my gaze back down to the carpet.
But there he was, right beside me, his opening line that he loved the colour of my hat (orange with little flowers on it, Ginko since you ask, and if you are recoiling in horror, the untouched roots were no better, trust me). ‘E loved the coleur 'and then he greatly admired my 'sense of style' (always a worry and makes you wonder if the feather boa and the thigh high boots were a mistake). I thanked him demurely and pretended a huge interest in my feet as he settled himself against the wall and began prattling on about Scotland and Edinbourg and admitted, yes, that ‘e was Franch, surprised that I had guessed. Then after about - ooooh a thousand years, his hands shaking, his tongue running wild with all those French vowels and trippy consonants all about lovely Edinbourg and its lovely concert halls (who knew) the theatre doors finally opened. I was weak with relief but when I got to my seat - wouldn’t you know it, sod's law, he was bloody sitting next to me.
More Edinbourg. More rants about the Americans who are spoiling British Theatre because of all these musicals, until finally the lights went down and on came Phill. Much clapping, most of it mine and hysterical.
Then half way through the play the Frenchman had a coughing fit and had to open his bag Unzzzzzzzzzzzp (LOUDLY) and then not finding what he was looking for, open yet another compartment Unzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzip (LOUDLY) and then rustle rustle, take out
sweets (LOUDLY) which he unwrapped and returned (LOUDLY) Ziiiiiiip and then slurp, cough, slurp, cough, more compartments Unziiiiiiiiiip to reveal many papers (LOUDLY rifled through) and produced a bottle of water which he gulped water (LOUDLY) and then Ziiiiiiiiped the bag closed once again, and then with the distinct and unmistakeable spell of Pastis wafting my way,he whispered, not at all sotto voice:
Sorry for my choke, throat clear... choke..... cough.
I swear the whole theatre almost stopped for a second while he finished his sentence. And they all thought he was with me.
Frankly, I just wanted to shoot him. If I could have done it quietly.
So.
Not a great sign being a match to me, but if any Guardian Soulmate out there would like to explore further, I do indeed have a great sense of style.
And I don’t always wear hats.
