Saturday night back-up

It’s Saturday night, just before Christmas and Hot Richard has let me down, so obviously I need a replacement date for the evening. The idea of staying home alone is abhorrent. I can’t allow myself to stay home and mope around, so by mid afternoon, I begin to assess my dating app options. There are a few guys who have asked me out for a drink via Happn this week, so with the help of my friends, I decide on a shortlist, and contact them to see who’s available to go for a drink.

Within an efficient 20 minutes, I have set up a date with an Irish Lawyer called Daniel. He seems nice enough, we haven’t spoken much, but we set a time to meet later that evening. In preparation, I take a nap.

screen-shot-2016-12-18-at-19-10-31The Date
Venue –
The Princess of Shoreditch
Location –
Paul Street, EC2A 4NE
– Pub
– Good, relaxed, busy
Service –
Staff were friendly, they learnt the order so that you can say ‘Same again’. That’s important on a date.

Irish Daniel
Employment –
Age –
early thirties
Nationality – 
Northern Irish
Interests –
Rugby, I can’t remember anything else, maybe it will come back to me
Source – 
Anatomy –
 Tall, well built but not as muscular as my usual type
The Story – There’s no back story here, we’ve hardly spoken online, we meet for a drink because Hot Richard has blown me out. Does that seem like a bad idea to you?

We meet in the street, he walks down to meet me between Old Street and Shoreditch High Street. We immediately recognise one another, which is an excellent start. I’m pleasantly surprised to find that he is attractive, but he’s not blowing me away. His accent is nice, my second proper boyfriend was from County Mayo though, and the southern Irish lilt was a lot nicer to listen to.

I think the problem with Irish Daniel is that he’s not masculine enough for me. We have a pleasant evening, I drink enough red wine to laugh at his jokes, and he drinks enough beer to pretend to enjoy my company, but no one is pretending that this is a love story in the making. He allows me to pay for my rounds, which is fair enough, but not assertive enough to turn me on…

The venue is good. It’s busy when we arrive, which any decent pub on a Saturday night before Christmas should be. But we manage to secure bar stools and make ourselves comfortable. I can see he’s looking at my legs, my shoulders, assessing me, but he gives no impression that he’s enjoying what he’s looking at. His hands never stray onto my knee. There’s no glint in his eye.

We have three drinks at the Princess of Shoreditch, then we walk to Old Street tube. He kisses me chastely on the lips and says goodbye, but then rescinds his insistence that he has to leave because he has to work tomorrow, and we end up going for one more drink at Magic Roundabout on Old Street roundabout.

screen-shot-2016-12-18-at-19-27-09VenueThe Magic Roundabout
Location – Old Street roundabout – accessed by a door in the underpass beneath the roundabout
– Outdoor (but covered and heated) bar
– Busy! But good

There we continue to talk, I try to bring it round to a more flirtatious angle, but it’s just not happening. I find myself apathetic. It’s time to go home.

On my way home, after having drunk probably approximately a bottle of wine, I’m pleased that I manage to only drunkenly message John from Seattle, and not Hot Richard. This is definite progress.

When I get home, I find my lips are stained from the red wine. I shrug. Oh well. After some more dirty messages exchanged with John from Seattle, I collapse into my bed. I might of had an unfruitful night, but it was better than staying home and missing Hot Richard. That’s the purpose of a Saturday night back-up.


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