1st Date - The Gypsy

First date.  Done.  Was he as expected?  No.  Was he my type?  No.  Was he at least good looking, charming and entertaining?  I wish.  That said, he was pleasant.  Sorry, but that's all I got.  Had I realised this when I was waiting 30 minutes for him to arrive, I doubt I would have stayed.  Tell a lie, I would of waited.  However, I definitely had better things to do with my Friday night, and sitting like a loner, clutching a glass of red as I completed the Metro Sudoku in the middle of a busy bar wasn't one of them.

Not only did my date arrive late, but he didn't look as if he'd made much effort.  Unshaven and casually dressed in ripped jeans and tired Converse (both traits I hate I might add, as it doesn't take much to make an impression).  Despite this he managed to scrape together a decent enough conversation to get us through one drink and off to dinner.  As recommended by The Rules, I left the planning to him, so had no idea where we were heading.  By the initial sound of it, neither did he, as he suggested that we head to South Bank to walk along the parade and choose from one of the many restaurants there.  'Just let me know when you see one you like', he said.  OK I thought, I can run with this.  Oooo....Ping Pong.  'That looks nice', I say.  Silence.  We keep walking.  Clearly, he didn't think I was worth Ping Pong money.  Cheek.  Instead we ended up in cheap and cheerful Wagamamas.  Now, I love a bit of Thai fusion, but Wags!  For a DINNER DATE!!!  Might as well have taken me to Nandos.  From here the date just got worse.  He slated his ex over dinner and proceeded to tell me, in a round about way, that he had NO FIXED ABODE!!!!  Yes, that's right Ladies.  I was on a date with a Gypsy.  Seems he split from the mother of his children over 6 months ago and has been sleeping wherever he can lay his head ever since.  This includes his car and place of work.  Not sure about you, but my first thought was, 'I hope this man's not looking for a London address from me!!'.  I mean, how can you be this whatless at the age of 32?  More to the point, what are you doing out on a date with me?  Don't you have a home to find? 

So you see, being on time isn't all its cracked up to be.  Both times, yes I said it, BOTH times I've been on time for a date they've been a complete waste of time.  The first one because he turned up 40 mins late in a full 70's ensemble, complete with shiny nylon shirt, flares and juicy jerry curl to boot.  Not only did he then proceed to spend the entire night bragging about his past modelling days, current clubbing days and privileged Swiss upbringing, but he then went on to tell me not to watch what he ordered, as he ate before he came out.  WTF.  We arranged to go to DINNER!!!  Even then, he only ordered something because the couple on the table next to us offered us a 2 for 1 voucher.  Tight arse.  The icing on the cake was getting my car locked in the multi storey car park overnight because Bragger Jerry here couldn't shut up and pay the bill fast enough.  What a nightmare!  Where do I find these men?  I must say, little reminders such as these give me the motivation and strength to follow through with these rigid rules.  Hopefully, they'll save me a few Friday nights.  Even just the one, would be worth the cost of the book.