So, speed dating.
Listen, I know you're probably thinking that I didn't make any effort or turned up like some scruffy stush screwface but I didn't. I smiled a lot, I was very nice to everyone in equal measure, I made all of them laugh. I didn't wear trainers. That's deep. That's effort.
But it was sooooooooooooooooo dry. God, it was dry.
I don't even have any funny or embarrassing stories to tell. Except for the fact that I arm-wrestled one of them, forced another to dance, asked a guy from Oxford why he had such a strong (FAKE) cockney accent even though he'd lived in London for five minutes and then made a French dude speak in his best cockney accent for my own amusement (and sanity), it was a totally nondescript and stupidly average night.
My friend hated it too. Actually she'd been saying "Let's sack it off, let's sack it off..." since 4pm. I think "Let's sack it off" is slang for "Do you mind if we don't go?" in Banbury. After it ended, she said she felt dirty. I don't think she likes me anymore.
When I got home, I had a lovely message from one of the randoms.
How are you doing? Im still not decided about you. I would like to meet up again for a tea and some stimulating conversation?
Do you know how to use a telephone? My number is ************. This is the number you type into the phone to talk to other people who also have mobile phones.
Get in touch and let us know
That kind of sums up the whole evening. I don't reckon I'll be keeping in touch.