Mr #43 - The Murderer. Probably.

The preamble:
To be honest, I'm not entirely sure why I eventually agreed to meet Mr #43. When we first started emailing, I thought Mr #43 was quite sweet. We'd bonded over our mutual love of African grey parrots and he had a lovely way with words. But then in the middle of our e-chat, suddenly I was unable to reply to his messages. Then, a couple of days later, he emailed to apologise for 'accidentally' blocking me. Weird. But nevermind, chatting resumed, we swapped numbers, and arranged a date. 

A couple of days before the date, however, he texted to say he had to get something off his conscience, that he'd lied on his profile and that he was actually 40, and not 35, but that his colleagues had advised him to fess up before the date. He justified the claim by saying he actually looked a lot younger than 40, and thought he could get away with it. Weirder. So to refresh my memory even further, I logged back onto the site to have a look at his profile. And it was no longer there. Weirdest yet. 

So I texted Mr #43 querying his absence, and made it perfectly clear that if he was dicking around for whatever reason, I wasn't interested, and that I had concerns he might not be who he said he was. He concurred that his behaviour had been pretty odd, explained away, and allayed my fears enough that I would go and meet him. But in broad daylight. And not before getting the ladies in my office to look for him on t'internet in case I didn't turn up to work the next day and pieces of my anatomy were found floating along the river in Asda bags. The more astute of you may have deduced by the very presence of this write up that I probably wasn't dismembered and discarded into the Thames. 

Or was I?

Okay, I wasn't.

The man:
Age: 40
Profession: Something to do with law and publishing

Random factoid: He had a number of ex girlfriends. From the following write up, you'll see why this might seem really rather random...

The date:
So, bracing myself for a potential face off with a genuine interweb weirdo and after practising my rapid deo-in-face self-defence move, I headed off to Waterloo to meet Mr #43. We were due to meet at the bottom of the main steps, and as if I wasn't suspicious enough, when I arrived there were two police officers stood there also waiting for someone, hopefully not my date, but at least if it WAS my date then a. I'd have survived a watery grave and b. I'd have had the night off. Lovely. But no, they didn't accost my date before he accosted me, more's the pity. And why I say 'accost', it was actually more of a polite approachment and cheek peck. 

My first thoughts were how quiet and petite he was, and also how camp he was. Had I maybe mislead him from my profile? Perhaps my picture with the handlebar moustache had been a bit "confusing". Was he expecting a date with a dude? It seemed not. Or if he was, he masked his disappointment well.

First assessments made, we pottered off to a nearby bar, and attempted to procure some beverages. Like a fool, I'd rushed out of the office without the precautionary bladder-empty I would usually employ before going on a date, so  I left my date with my drinks order and scampered off to the facilities before making the date memorable for rather more embarrassing reasons. 

When I returned to my rum and coke, I was rather surprised when my date said 'now I'm not an alcoholic...but I was forced to buy TWO Kronenbergs'. I see, so you've got two pints there, and I have a little rum and coke to nurture. Don't get me wrong, I am no fan of double parking on a first date, nor did I want him to buy me two drinks. But I'm a swift drinker, and struggle at the best of times to pace a spirit and mixer against a date's pint, let alone two. Plus I always like to buy a round myself, but it's only polite to do so once my date has finished. And if I'd gone before he'd had his second, that'd just seem rude. It's funny how rapidly these thoughts whizz around your head when faced with such a situation. Anyone would think I've been on one too many dates...! 

Drinks aside, we got to the talky part of the date, which proved a little problematic. He was very quiet and not very chatty, and although I'm pretty good at getting some sort of evenly-balanced dialogue out of my dates, with him I was definitely responsible for 80% of the chat. That's not why I go on dates, if I wanted to hear the sound of my own voice I could just stay at home, talk to myself about the same old shit and work my way through a bottle of Morgan's Spiced. It'd be a lot cheaper. 

I also studied his face, and the more I realised yes, he did have very young features, but his skin was very thin and crinkly, like crepe paper, the sort of skin you'd see atop a bald octogenarian that would be so soft you'd be frightened to tear it. As we spoke, or more accuretly, as I spoke and he listened, my date did become more animated, and with the animation came more effeminate flourishes.

Memorable Quotes:
'You may have noticed I'm a keen swimmer' No, I hadn't. You're in a suit, not Speedos...! Oh, but if you were...

'I don't read newspapers. Or watch the news...' Er, what???

Events of note:

The distinct lack of any sort of murder. Don't get me wrong, I am very pleased about that.

The Verdict:

I won't be seeing Mr #43 again, partly because I suspect I'm not quite as masculine as I suspect he might secretly have liked, but mainly because he was so polite although he didn't murder me on a first date, he definitely would have done so on the second date and I have shit to do, a life to live, bills to pay, more dates to go on...death would really put a dampener on the whole thing, so best we leave things as is.