Despite having been for all intents and purposes pretty much single for over 5 years now, I have resolutely refused to go down the horrific route of organised dating. Speed-dating events, internet dating sites, singles ‘supper clubs’: you can call it what you want but I’ve long been of the belief that these places are populated by predatory players, sad singletons, and losers of the highest degree.
I’ve had to become slightly less vocal with this opinion as more and more of my successful, attractive, and perfectly eligible single friends have opted to give it a go, but still, there’s no way I could accept that was how my story could get sewn up. What about romance, fate, the star-crossed lovers effect? Stumbling across your soul mate in the supermarket. Eyes meeting across a crowded room. Those stomach-flipping moments when you realise you’ve just met the one. I was still set on the fairytale. And in no fairytale I can imagine would there be a door charge, a tick list, or an uncomfortable dinner party with a bunch of overbearing strangers.
Which is why I couldn’t quite fathom what had happened when just a few weeks ago, I found myself roped into attending London‘s newest singles night: ‘Meddlers of Honour’ with the tasteful tag line - ‘the dating night where every single person gets hooked up’. I’d been seduced by the fact that a very good friend of mine had signed up to be a ‘meddler’ ie. one of the matchmakers at the event whose job it was to circulate the room making introductions.
“So, see anyone you like?” she asked hopefully. “Eh no is the short answer to that,” I replied, having scanned the room, taken in the medley of unlikely characters, and retreated to a quiet corner in the hope of avoiding any unwelcome advances. “Give it time,” she instructed. “And get another bottle of wine in.” It looked like it was going to be a long and painful night.
My meddlers buddy Liv was more optimistic having spotted a beefy long-haired chap who bore a vague resemblance to her fantasy husband (one Nathan Follow ill - the entirely unattainable drummer in Kings of Leon). Only this particular attendee was not there in the capacity of singleton; trussed up in a long white coat and holding court in the ‘Love Clinic’, he was one of the ‘Love Doctors’ - one of two self-appointed experts in dating who were there to dish out advice and convince all the undate-able that they were in fact the catch of the century. “I’m going to go talk to him,” she announced. “What shall I say?” “How about ‘Doctor, Doctor, my sex is on fire’ I suggested helpfully. “Only he might just recommend cranberry juice.”
Responding with a raised eyebrow and a shake of her head, she stalked off to stake out her prey, leaving me at the mercy of two over-enthusiastic young men who’d sat down next to us and now set about making their moves. With all the arm touching and knee grazing going on, it was clear they’d been reading up on flirting techniques, thankfully a few well-placed shudders and bored facial expressions were enough to convince them they were fighting a lost cause with me and they skulked off.
I breathed a sigh of relief and set about demolishing the bowl of love heart sweets on the table in front of me, while trying desperately not to make eye contact with anyone. It didn’t work: “Carrie, I’ve found someone who’d really like to meet you!” Laura piped up, appearing beside me with man in tow. “ This is James…” Hmmm, maybe she’d got it right, I thought, giving him a quick once over - battered old jeans, plaid shirt, dishevelled hair artfully arranged to fall over one eye. “Eh hi…” I stuttered. And then, as he flicked his hair out of his face to say hello, I saw it - “Oh!” - the word ‘nose’ seems insufficient to describe the giant pointed beak that took over most of this poor guy’s face and as I desperately tried and failed not to look directly at it (could I turn to a pillar of salt?), he attempted to strike up a conversation. “So Laura tells me you’re a writer, I’m a writer too, I write music reviews for The Times.” In ordinary circumstances, this would indeed have been a reason why he might appeal to me but seriously, was Laura insane? “Maybe I should leave you guys alone to chat…” she offered. Clearly she was insane. “Actually, I was just about to nip to the bar. I’ll catch up with you later yeah,” I responded practically sprinting away.
And the bar was where Liv found me an hour later, when Doctor Love had departed, and I was half way through the second bottle of rose wine and quickly losing my ability to see straight. “Can we please go home now?” I begged. “Let me help you with that bottle first,” she decided, wrestling it out of my iron grip. “He left, no goodbye, no number, nothing.” “I’ll get you a glass,” I answered, turning to hail the barman.
But by the time I’d turned back, she’d been approached by a new man, and simply winked as she walked away with him and - even more upsettingly - with the wine, leaving me proffering an empty glass.
That’s when he made his move. “Hi, I’m John. Looks like you need a drink.”
“You know what John, that’s the most appealing offer I’ve had all night.”
To be continued…
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