Let me tell you about my first blind date. In fact, it was my first date of any kind.

So, picture this; I’m 17, still fairly sweet and innocent, and completely naïve to the joys (and horrors) of the dating world, with a slightly Disney-tinted view of romance. I have just started coming in to my own and generating a little attention from the boys – yet I’m the last single one in my friendship group. So of course, my lovely friend Lola – whom I also worked with – decided to give me a hand with this by asking Olly the barman to set me up with a friend. A nice older guy with a good job and a nice car apparently. I won’t dwell on the process of us meeting – we got each other’s numbers, exchanged a photo (he seemed cute), had a bit of a chat and arranged a date. I got a pep talk, some outfit ideas and swore to check in with Lola and relay every single detail of the date. Obviously. And that was that, I was off on a date with Gavin!

So, date night. I’m sitting at the bus stop outside the bar we’d agreed to meet at feeling pretty nervous, but excited, about meeting what could potentially be the man of my dreams, about to whisk me away to my happily ever after. You have to think positively, right? Anyway, as I’m sitting there waiting oh so patiently for the date that is now 20 minutes late, I look up and see this funny looking little man walking up to me. About 5 foot 5 and sporting a bright yellow puffer jacket, bleached blonde hair in hedgehog spikes, two sparkling diamond-esque studs and a thick gold chain that would make Delboy drool. And, shock horror, this 90’s boy band reject walked straight over to me and said, “Hi, I’m Gav.” Ah crap.

Look, appearances aren’t everything okay. I mean, I’m hardly fashion forward myself and personalities are way more important than looks. And he kind of looked like his photo…just a bit different than the classy, older gentleman I was expecting. But that was an image I’d created in my own mind and he seemed nice enough, so I was open to seeing how it went. Now, one of the benefits of dating a 21-year-old when you’re 17 is that they can buy the drinks, right? Well that’s usually the case, unless the 21-year-old in question actually looks about 12. And doesn’t carry ID. So off we went on a tour of all the places in town that wouldn’t serve him. Turns out, there were about 9 of them. And did I mention it was March and I was wearing a dress? Fun times! Eventually we came across a delightful pub with crusty carpets and an aroma which can only be described as a body odour/urinal blend. So, I was actually grateful to take my long-awaited drink out in the cold beer garden so that my date could smoke.

Meanwhile, back at the restaurant…

Lola: I might check in with L and see how it’s going

Olly: Oh yeah, it’s her date with Cracky Gav tonight!

Lola: Cracky Gav? Why do you call him that?

Olly: Because he loves drugs

Lola: What? What drugs?

Olly: All the drugs! He’s always on them.

Lola: No! L hates drugs!

Olly: Oh…probably not the best person to set her up with then…

Lola: You think?! Well that’s going to be an interesting date!

Oh, interesting was one word for it! So, we had finally found somewhere that we could sit and have a drink, and the getting to know you part of the date could commence.

So why do you not carry ID with you when you look so young?

Oh because I don’t have a passport and I had my driving license taken away, so I don’t have any ID.

You had your license taken away? How exactly?

Oh got caught drink driving. Well, drink and drugs really.

Pardon?

Yeah think I’d had some Charlie at some point too but don’t really remember. Anyway, rolled my car over and wrote it off then they took my license off me. Bit shit really.

I see…I might just pop to the loo quickly. And never come back.

Obviously I was really just going to text Lola.

What have you set me up with? He’s a bloody druggy! A car rolling Aaron Carter wannabe druggy! No one would even serve him, so we’ve ended up in that rat pub…whatever it’s called. The dodgy one opposite the church. When is it polite to leave? Argh!!!

I hid out for as long as my nostrils allowed, and then I headed back out, telling myself to give him a chance. After all, that might have just been when he was young and stupid, right? We talked for a while longer about life, work, there were even a few more stories about getting drunk and he how he was supplementing his income by selling home grown weed on the side. Turns out his age was irrelevant; he was just stupid. And then, as though sent directly from heaven, I saw Lola and her boyfriend walk into the beer garden. I could have cried. Turns out she felt so bad about her part in this pantomime that she convinced her boyfriend to come along and give me some support, and thankfully the rest of the evening went along fairly smoothly. Turns out that Gav wasn’t such a bad guy, just made some terrible life choices. Not that I wanted to be around for any future idiocy.

As we walked back towards the train station, we said our goodbyes and like the coward I am, I lied to his face and told him I’d had a lovely night and would definitely see him again. A text seemed like a much easier way to tell him the truth anyway. But as I went to hug him goodbye and he leaned in for a kiss, I’m pretty sure my Matrix worthy bend away from him let him know how I really felt as I never heard from him again. Not the best way to start my dating life, but I figured things could only get better from there at least.

Oh, you poor naïve little girl…

L xo

‘Hi. Was great meeting you the other night. Fancy going for a drink soon? A.’

Of all the texts to receive after a night out, this is definitely one of the worst. Don’t get me wrong, it seems friendly enough. But the fact I’ve clearly had a conversation with someone, if not more, but don’t remember it? I dread to think what else I’d blocked from my memory.

Luckily, friends seem to remember all the details you try to forget…

Guys, I’ve just had a text from someone called A about the other night?

Yeah, that’s Alex! You were talking to him for like an hour.

Really? I don’t remember him.

Seriously? You kept jumping on his back and telling him to take you around the club introducing him to everyone as your new best friend

Oh…

What can I say? I shouldn’t mix my drinks!

Anyway, I text him back (not mentioning the fact that I couldn’t remember him) and we had quite a regular back and forth for a few days. He asked me if I wanted to meet him for a drink and I thought, meh, why not! Typically, the best times for me seemed to be the worst times for him, and vice versa, so we ended up having to settle for a quick drink one evening between other commitments. But considering I didn’t even remember meeting him in the first place, I figured short and sweet might work in my favour.

So, I was running fashionably late, naturally, and by the time I had got there he had already sat himself at a table and bought us both a drink. A lovely gesture of course, but the drink he had ordered for me was a pint of ale. Really not my drink. But I appreciated the gesture and was more than happy to buy a replacement. And it just meant he got an extra drink out of it. Win win, right? Wrong. Well, in his eyes anyway. He seemed pretty put out about it and kept pushing me to try this ale, to the extent that I didn’t even want to see it, let alone drink it. Even after I had got myself something different, he couldn’t seem to let it be;

I really think you should drink it, it’s so nice

I honestly am quite happy with my lemonade, but thanks anyway

Oh go on, you should really give it a try. You might be surprised

Sorry, I’m actually not drinking today, but I appreciate the thought

Just have a sip at least. Seriously, it’s so good, you’ll definitely like it

Le sigh.

I could’ve just tried it, but why be so insistent? Plus, I’d said no often enough by this point that there was no way I was backing down now. But I also wasn’t quite ready to walk out on the date. There could have still be a lot of potential in this guy! Plus, I had to find something to do whilst I sipped what felt like a gallon of lemonade – I hate to drink in silence. I also hate to drink lemonade when I really want a massive bucket of wine, but my spidey-senses told me I should keep my wits about me with this one.

I want to say the conversation was interesting, but I honestly don’t remember. What I do remember is that every minute or so he would repeat his request that I take a sip of this beer he had so generously bought for me without even asking if I wanted it, because it really is good you know. What was it about this drink that was so amazing? Maybe it was some kind of heavenly nectar that filled you with euphoria and a deeper understanding of life and our purpose on this planet. Well sod trying it for myself, that’s for sure. Apart from being incredibly weird how obsessed he was with me drinking it, it definitely felt like I was winning the game of tenacity, saying yes would’ve felt like I had just given in to defeat. That wasn’t going to happen.

And then, boys and girls, then he did something that really set the alarm bells ringing. As he finished his pint, he didn’t just reach for the spare identical pint that was sitting in front of him. The delicious, amazing ale that he had been harping on about this whole time. Oh no. He got up to buy a new one.

Why?!

Why don’t you just drink the one you got for me?

Oh it’s been sitting there too long really, I need a fresh one

 You were happy for me to drink it though?

Oh yeah well I don’t really fancy another one, might get something different. It’s not that great.

Pardon et moi? Not that great you say? Well what the bloody hell have you been trying to convince me of this whole time then? That did not sit well with me! As he walked off to get his drink, I sat there thinking about how odd the whole situation was. He must have put something in that drink. It seemed the only logical explanation for his behaviour. Well, that or he didn’t really like it at all and was just trying to palm it off on me to save wasting money or having to chug down another disgusting pint. But the latter was far less dramatic so I sent that invasive thought away immediately. Anyway, drink-spiker or douche, I wasn’t sticking around for him to return. He wasn’t even that great a date anyway – he had a soul patch for crying out loud.

As I was sneaking out, I managed to catch the attention of one of the barmen. Who, completely to my surprise, just happened to be the brother of an old school friend. Just a funny little coincidence that has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of my story. Small world though hey? Anyway, when asked why I looked like I was sneaking away, I let him know briefly what had happened. He eyed Alex suspiciously (“Is he the knob with the chin fuzz?”) then simply looked at me and said, “Leave it with me.” So I did.

I’d love to say that the mystery was solved and justice was served, but to be honest I never heard anything else from the barman or the creepy ale enthusiast since. So to try and divert from the disappointing anti-climax, let’s think of the lesson here – always be vigilant with your drinks! You may be having a naff one foisted upon you by a cheapskate!

The ironic thing is that if it was rum I’d have probably just drunk it without a second thought…

L xo