No Joe for this mo

Had an after-work meeting with my number one lady friend the other day and as I finished work earlier than her, I hotfooted it over to her Soho ad agency to meet her. I got there a little sooner than I should, so I mooched around in the super-white reception area trying not to look too much like I didn’t belong.

While I was feigning interest in all the reading literature, an especially dashing young chap with good hair and a nice smile came striding out of the office, past me and out of the building. He was one of those men who makes you forget your own name for a brief moment because all you can think about is how much he looks like walking sex.

Just as I picked myself up off the floor, my number one lady friend arrived and we headed off together for a night of debauched drinkery. While we were out I described the office hunk to her to see if she knew who he was, what his status was and when I would be able to go on a blind date with him.

‘Oh my God, do you mean the bloke in the blue shirt?’ she squealed. ‘That’s Joe. I’ve been meaning to tell you about him for months. I knew you’d fancy him. I only found out today through the grapevine that he is in fact a mo.’

‘Tell me everything,’ I said.

We discussed Joe for most of the evening and I bullied her into agreeing to send him an email the following morning along the lines of ‘my friend fancies you’. Playground tactics maybe, but they barely know each other and the chances of me being there just as he finished again were fairly slim. She wasn’t particularly keen on the Cilla Black idea, but I rightly pointed out that he was too delicious an opportunity to miss.

The next morning, luckily as it turns out, their email server was down, so she had to wait until she bumped into him for a face-to-face chat.

‘Joe,’ she asked tentatively. ‘Do you live in Hampstead?’ Now this might not sound like a genius chat-up line, but she has used this approach to many men and it always gives you an opening to a discussion.

‘No,’ he replied.

‘Oh, it’s just my friend who came to meet me last night was sure he knew you and thought maybe he had seen you in Hampstead as that’s where he lives.’

‘No, I haven’t been to Hampstead for a while,’ he said (still not jumping in with ‘but I remember him from last night and fell in love with him instantly’.)

‘But,’ he added, ‘my boyfriend does live in Belsize Park, which is close, so maybe he has seen me around there.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said.

And with that crushing defeat, her matchmaking career was over before it had even begun.

He's just not that into me

The world of online dating is a ruthless place. Having been on a date with Nigel that didn’t really go anywhere, I decided it was time to search again and see if there was anyone else on the site that might be worth contacting. Some of my friends are also on the site and the straight female ones seem to have had a fair amount of success, but it turns out that for gays, it is slim pickings.

I had a scout through and when I realised there weren’t any really decent men, I decided to get in touch with some not-so-decent blokes. I sent off various witty (I thought) emails and waited with bated breath. The good thing (or maybe the bad thing) about this particular site is that you can see when people have read the messages you send. Of course, when three days have passed and they still haven’t got back to you, all you want to do is send them another one saying, ‘I wasn’t even interested in you anyway and now you’re snubbing me?’

Anyway, one bit and sent a reply. All was going well; we exchanged emails, he seemed like he wasn’t harbouring any psychotic tendencies and his replies weren’t littered with spelling mistakes, but then he went and ruined it. When we got onto the topic of music, I mentioned that I had been to see Prince last year at the O2 (best night of my life) and he replied with: ‘My musical tastes are pretty limited. I like all the usual stuff – Abba, Steps, S Club 7 and Scooch.’ At what point did he think it was acceptable to say that to a Prince fan, of all people? Needless to say, I ceased communication forthwith.

Then next potential suitor was The Man Mountain. His profile listed his build as ‘athletic’ and he had the look of a mad man about him. He also stated that he wasn’t looking for an email marathon and was only on the site to meet up with people. That worked for me, so I fired off an email. Within minutes he got back to me and suggested we meet after work. Having sent his picture, email address and mobile number to all of my friends (should I go missing and end up chopped to bits and dumped in the Thames), I agreed.

The evening was fine. He was indeed very athletic and the conversation was flowing. However, the roid rage was a bit of a problem as he started on two separate groups of four people and I decided early on that I wasn’t really up for anything with a sociopath.

He asked me what I wanted out of the evening and what I was looking for. Before I had a chance to answer, he said: ‘I’d like to see you again, but I think maybe we should go on the pull together.’

Fair enough, I thought. I wasn’t actually interested, but as soon as he had said that, I suddenly really wanted to kiss him. I didn’t, but we did agree that he would email me the next day so that we could arrange an evening out.

Eight days have passed and still no email. Why is it all you need to hear is that someone’s not interested and then they’re all you can think about?

I had to delete his number from my phone for fear of drunken text messages. And in spite of it all, I’m still logging on and searching for Mr Right. I doubt he’s on there.