A Busy Weekend

At the weekend my day job tried to take over (for those who don't know I am a freelance theatrical costume maker.) I had taken on a contract from Bolton Octagon which had to be turned around in a week. I only got to fit the costumes on Thursday, so was expecting to have to work all weekend to get them ready for delivery on Monday. But never fear, dear reader, I had my phone handy at all times to document the comings and goings on Tinder.

Whilst up in Bolton on Thursday a match pops up with a gentleman name of Tony. Later that afternoon we start chatting and he turns out to be a delightful chap, witty, good writing style (I do like a man who can spell and doesn't use too much text-speak!), cyclist, software developer, father of 4, ex-scooterist, former resident of Amsterdam (and we all know what that means!), lives in Runcorn. This one really does sound like he could be a replacement for the One That Got Away at Christmas. He asks me if I'd like to go on a date with him. And this is where it all falls down.

We move the conversation to WhatsApp and try to find a mutually convenient time to meet up for afternoon tea on Saturday. I discover a very useful website called Whatshalfway.com which shows that halfway between Runcorn and Wrexham is, conveniently enough, Chester. We decide on a farm cafe on the outskirts of Chester at 3pm. So far, so awesome.

My work proceeds apace, and I figure I can make time to take a couple of hours out to meet a nice-sounding geezer for a cup of tea and scone, when I get a message from him apologising but he has to take his daughter shopping for a party she wants to throw that evening, and can we postpone till Sunday? Of course I say yes. Family must always come first. It's not the first, nor do I suspect it will be the last time I am thrown over for a child. Sunday comes, and no date, but another apology. We try to re-arrange for a drink on Wednesday evening. It's still Wednesday, and no word from the nice Mr Scooterboy Tony. Ah well. Reading back through his messages to write this he did sound very sweet, but a Scooterboy and a Biker Chick was never really going to cut it. We would have been re-enacting Quadrophenia every time we got together. Next!

The next person to pop up was a very left-field player who I'm going to call Deva Don, not his real name, because we have friends in common and he doesn't want them to know he's on Tinder. All terribly secret squirrel! He messages me very late on Friday night. He is acerbic, sarcastic and sounds very bitter, but as we have friends in common, and in his photo he does look rather dishy, I keep at it despite his best efforts:

Him: So, it appears we're not compatible. In fact, I'm probably not compatible with anyone here at the moment.

Me: Aren't we? OK, if you think not I shall bow to your superior knowledge. Be well, and good luck.

Him: Sorry, I didn't wish to appear rude. The thing is that I'm having doubts about actually being on Tinder as I don't get time for dating. Well, nothing but the most casual anyway - and I'm not sure if anybody wants that including myself perhaps. I'd also feel daft suggesting it. God, Tinder is just making me confused.

Me: Look, if you are a friend of X and Y, I think you might be an interesting guy. Here's my mobile number. If you fancy and could manage a quiet drink one evening, drop me a line. No pressure.

And I left it there.

On Sunday afternoon he texted me from work. Then later that evening he messaged me on WhatsApp. No date yet, but the connection is open.

Another back field runner pops up on Sunday morning. Paddleboard Pete and I also have friends in common, so his name has also been changed. Not immediately sparky, but he keeps messaging me every other day or so, and has offered to take me out to the Chinese Buffet in town next time he's in the area (not that I'm going to hold him to it!) so he's worthy of a mention. So many guys have 'liked' me, then either not bothered to reply to my messages, or evaporated after one or two texts. What's the point in that? Spoilsports. Ah well, their loss. Never shall they grace the pages of this blog with even an honourable mention.

Which brings me to John the Druid.

What can I say about John the Druid?! He almost warrants a post all to himself. In fact, I'm going to leave you in suspense as we are meeting for dinner tomorrow night. Watch this space, as they say. /|\