This weekend I was particularly special. Not ‘special – on form’, but ‘special – needs help dressing’.

Firstly I was faffing in the morning, so missed my optimal train to London. Secondly I decided to walk from a tube station slightly further away rather than change (with a big walk through the labyrinthine King’s Cross underground) only to go one more stop.

As I had faffed in the morning, I had not checked my walking route in advance but had no fear as I could rely on that absolute godsend of modern life: the satnav!

Unfortunately my damned infernal satnav REFUSED to connect. I was already late. Being disorientated by the unnaturalness of being fired through dark tubes in a giant metal snake I struck off in completely the opposite direction.

Eventually, harried and flustered, I arrived at the table football café. It was a lovely venue (except for the audible football on the telly, which is like a dentist’s drill to me). The place had quirky décor, 3 babyfoot tables, a surprisingly well equipped and extensive bar… and absolutely no date inside whatsoever. None. There was a foppish man reading a paper but doubted that he would appreciate being a substitute for my absent date.

Armed with a beer I sat down to ponder my next move. Then my date called me from what sounded like a particularly exciting and lively venue. It was a table football bar. The OTHER table football establishment, some 20 minutes away.

Yes, I had been a total spaz and gone to the wrong venue.

A short taxi ride in my direction and we finally commenced the date. We talked about work a fair bit. This is never a good sign as ‘work’ is the fallback conversation (even though it was rather interesting).She was sweet, almost naively so, but I did not fancy her. I also thrashed her at table football. I conceded a few goals but my competitive edge had kicked in and I wanted to WIN damitt!!!

After that I took her for a traditional cockney treat: pie and mash!

I spent my early years of my life in East London and simply LOVE pie and mash. Perhaps I should not have told her that the liquor (parsley sauce) is traditionally made from the water that the eels are cooked in. She conspicuously ate around it after that.

Being very sweet, she did invite me to accompany her to her evening’s activities. I declined as I had my own plans (and seriously, who takes a first date on to two parties?).

In summary: sweet with top quality venue suggestion skills. No chemistry.

Marriage percentage – 10%

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