January. Party's over, clear away the gin, banish meat from your life, eschew dairy, sail oblivious past the chocolate aisle in Tesco like you're the Demeter caught in an enchanted fog. January.
But what's this to start off the new year? Could it be yet another bullet point on the gay agenda? One step forward in our quest to take over the world? Yes, it looks like we're giving up heterosexuality for New Year too, as we have two dudes in this week's Guardian Blind Date. When scientists look back and try to prise apart the charred remains that fuse our bodies to our smartphones, they will chart the LGBTQ uprising as starting right here in the Blind Date column. I have noticed increasing disquiet from people previously unbothered by making any kind of effort for equality that the cherished Blind Date now "over-represents" the LGBTQ community. This is the hill they choose to breathe their last on. Dracula put his hand on a man's knee, there's not one but TWO lesbians in EastEnders, and the final straw, a distinct lack of straight clean-shirts talking about loft conversions over watery daiquiris, resulting in two sevens. If the wider world at large gets used to seeing two blokes or a pair of women in the Blind Date column, what next? An end to homophobia?! My, how inconvenient that would be for far too many people. Anyway, let's get on with out global takeover, one impeccable table manners answer at a time.
This week, it's soft scoop vs software. (I am not proud of this gag.) We've got Gavin, beard minor, 37, who is an ice-cream shop owner, and Tom, 40, beard major, who is a software developer.
Read the full story of their date on the Guardian and then let's reconvene and try turning it off and on again.
Aim for the sky - before plunging your hopes back down to earth again. If this answer were an ECG, your doctor would be wheeling you into theatre.
I would probably have headed to a cat café and endured two hours of insistent, unprovoked scratching, if I were you, Rob.
He was incredibly beautiful. Like a model. Totally stunning.
Okay, so this is what the fandom might call a spoiler. Rob has laid his cards on the table so hard the clatter has started his next-door neighbours - he is D-primed. Gavin, however, has gone full toddler and can only point out the most obvious thing in front of them. Plate! Fork! Table! BEARD!
His ice-cream shop, Wales and Scotland (our respective places of origin).
Work/his ice-cream shop/Rob's voluntary work - kind of a ✅ I guess.
Politics (unfortunately) - yeah, don't do this.
Wales and Scotland (our respective places of origin) - that grating noise you can hear isn't mice in your skirting board; it's the sound of accent fetishists rubbing their crotches through layers of corduroy and Christmas-gifted underwear.
Going out and dating in London - Even Bridget Jones would manage to talk about something else on a first date, guys. I dunno, maybe this is just me but it's SUCH a turn off to sit there and listen to someone talk you through their dating 'escapades'. I mean, my friends were so bored by it, I had to start a blog. So maybe just do that.
Not awkward, just economical.
Oh, nervous wine! My least favourite alcoholic drink of all. Nervous wine thinks it's doing you a favour; it's the 'drink me' bottle that promises to cure all your ills. But it's just a sticking plaster over an axe wound. I guess it can temporary realign your personality to make the situation less daunting but once you start preferring the you that the wine brings out, there's a problem because you cannot, with a few exceptions, spent your life drunk. I didn't drink for most of 2017 and while I wasn't exactly reborn, I have only rarely looked better. Unfortunately after ten months of sobriety I went to an event where I didn't know anyone and nerves got the better of me and when a tray of nervous wine - disguised as free, exciting champagne but I knew the bouquet a mile off - was put in front of me, I took it. And I have regretted it ever since.
Better to be you, and nervous, and maybe even a bit dull (very dull, in my case) than to let the wine do the talking for you.
To be honest, I was more interested in looking at his face and his arms.
I mean, its not a strange thing to say (I just like the gif), but in the context, and in juxtaposition with Rob's answers, it's... revealing. That "to be honest" is an understatement of the century because that is honesty-plus, a luxe upgrade to searing, galaxy-brained honesty. We have two different dates happening here, one is factual and one is sensual.
Gavin's answers are a school report, what I did on my holidays, an unexpected item in the bagging area, a cash machine receipt, a list of prime numbers. Rob's answers are Mary Shelley losing her virginity on her mother's grave, an outtake from the first Emmanuelle movie, The Story of O being read aloud to you by a man old enough to remember the opening night of Madonna's Who's That Girl Tour, Barbara Cartland's wedding night, the soundtrack to Trouser Bar.
He was the full package. Handsome, lovely figure, great smell. And he shows genuine interest in other people.
And again.
Gavin: A person was sitting in front of me and did not offend me in any way. Send tweet.
Rob: Love in the Creamery, by Robert Robertson. Chapter 1. I knew as soon as I saw him that we were meant to be together. The way he moved, the way he spoke - like a dance to music you've never heard before but have been waiting for all your life. His scent drew me in, the delicious aroma of raspberry ripple and rum "n" raisin filled the air as he wiped his hand on his apron, nodded toward the cones waiting for me on the counter and said, "£8.30, please." Reader, I was hooked. I knew I would be back, and no dairy intolerance would ever stop me.
In all seriousness, these are great answers and it's good to see two people appraise each other so honestly and kindly. I do love to be told I smell great so I hope Gavin is buzzing off this and not entering witness protection.
Warm, like a radiator in everyone else's house but MINE.
Calm, like a letting agent taking money for said flat.
Kind, like someone lending me an oil-filled radiator.
Interesting, like the thought of Gavin slowly unbuttoning your shirt, Rob.
Humble, as Gavin would no doubt be on your wedding say when you tell him he looks "sensational".
Gorgeous, just as you imagine his... I think we should leave it there before Rob needs to be taken outside for some air.
A date on a Sunday?!? Wow that is some serious cock-blocking by the restaurant there. Not that these two needed it, I guess; if Gavin were any less interested, he'd be outside. I know Mondays are awful but tbh the only way to get through is by being dog-tired with a terminal case of beard rash, leg muscles numb from your walk of shame 'etc'. Stay out late on a Sunday - you don't have double-geography in the morning. What time does an ice-cream shop open anyway? (Genuine question: just how early could I get a cherry and chocolate double-scoop cone?)
I would have quite happily spent the evening kissing him, but I didn't feel the date was going in that direction.
I mean, I guess you have to say hats off to Rob for leaving absolutely zero to interpretation. I wonder if Gavin is enjoying this revelation - very probably not a revelation tbh as he was on the date - or whether he is convulsing in the kind of ceaseless full body-cringe you'd get from eating a full jar of pickled onions in ten minutes. Still, at least it gets him a bit of attention online - I'm sure half of thirst-Twitter will be asking him for a giant cone soon enough. I've seen it all before.
Oh God. A nine would've been bad enough but full marks being met by a 7, the score equivalent of a shrug, is tough. Rob, I salute you for not dialling this back to save face. I mean, you might as well, eh?
Perhaps I'll go to his shop to buy some ice-cream.
A welcome distraction for Rob's tongue, which seems to have been hanging out for the duration. Better luck next time, boys.
Can I just say, Gavin, that if you're not going to give us any entertainment, then this is the most wasted promo opportunity ever. WHERE IS THE SODDING ICE-CREAM SHOP? Maybe he doesn't want us to know. I wonder if Gavin has even told Rob. Anyway, if I ever do find out, look out my for new venture, Impeccable Bus Tours, where we travel round London remembering bad scores and failed kisses at a series of increasingly depressing locations.
EDIT: The ice-cream shop is called Minus 12 and is in Herne Hill station, scene of many a failed date for me. You can go stalk Gavin on his company's Instagram if the urge takes you which, judging from my mentions, it shall.
* Gavin and Rob ate at Barboun, Shoreditch, London E1. Fancy a blind date? Email [email protected]. If you're looking to meet someone likeminded, visit soulmates.theguardian.comSUPPORT MY WORK: Please consider supporting me on Ko-fi, where anyone who feels like it can shove a couple of quid my way with no obligation or subscription.
Or preorder my second novel, The Magnificent Sons (out May 2020).
Pre-order The Magnificent Sons
Or share the blog. It helps. Cheers!
NOTE: The comments I make are based on the answers given by the participants. The Guardian chooses what to publish and usually edits answers to make the column work better on the page. Most of the things I say are merely riffing on the answers and not making judgements about the daters themselves, so please be kind to them in comments or replies. If you're one of the daters, get in touch if you want to give me your side of the story; I'll happily publish whatever you say. Chocolate-covered cone, please.
