Speed Dating
The night
Walking into the Soho bar that Speeddater.co.uk had taken over for the evening wasn’t nearly as terrifying as I’d expected. Usually these trendy drinking holes make me feel scruffy and old, full of funky-dressing youngsters as they tend to be. But that night I was fine. Everyone else in there had chosen to go speed-dating, so there was no way I was going to feel less cool than them.
I looked around at the bright, noisy throng. Girls were sitting in pairs, chatting at a hundred miles per hour. Boys were standing around in mercilessly ironed Ben Sherman shirts, looking around themselves like bee-buzzed dogs.
Looks-wise, they were a mixed bunch. As I stood and took it all in, two chubby girls in short-sleeved silk ball-dresses waved nervously at me, the white arm-blubber of their nascent bingo-wings wobbling. I waved back.
Would I find the beautiful, witty and clever woman that I was looking for?
The Aussie organizer, Kim (who was unfairly foxy) told me that there were 40 guys and 40 gals, but there would only be time to spend three minutes with 27 of the girls. She plastered a sticker saying “Speed Dater 7 – Angus” to my chest, and explained. I was to sit opposite my matching girl number, start chatting when the bell went, then move up a number when it rang again. The girls stayed seated. There were to be drinks breaks every 15 minutes. I resolved to remember to take my sticker off before getting the tube home.
Handing me a card on which to note my verdict of each ‘date’, Kim sent me off in the direction of the bar. I’d already had a couple with mates on the way, but I still sank a pint of premium lager in a matter of minutes, and was well into the second when we were called to tables.
I turned, and found myself gawping at ‘Speed Dater 19 – Emma’, a damask-cheeked, blond haired, blue-eyed beauty. Had I been in a Carry On film I would have said “Bwoooaaarrrr!”, while she tittered shyly. Instead I walked on.
I sat opposite the two large girls in silk – female daters Seven and Eight. They had been friends since school, and were clever, funny and sweet. But large.
The next few were much harder to talk to. I was desperate to avoid “what do you do, where do you live?” style questions, but my “if you could be any animal, what would it be?” was met with answers ranging from “Why?” to “I don’t know. Where do you live?”, so I gave up and started asking people where they’d been on holiday last.
There were some fun ones. 13 was a pretty German artist who asked if she could paint me in the nude. I said no problem, as long as she made me a ‘yes’. She said she’d think about making me a ‘friend’.
It was as lot easier than I’d expected to chat for three minutes. The secret, as in all conversation, is to ask questions. We love talking about ourselves more than any other topic, so even “what do you do, where do you live?” becomes interesting if you’re the one answering it. We get frustrated, however, by questions when we have to answer ‘no’. It makes us feel thick, and doesn’t give us the chance to impart knowledge. So “have you seen the new Lloyd-Webber?” is a terrible question, whereas “have you seen any plays or films recently?” is a good one.
As drinks and dates flowed, I became more confident. Sitting down opposite jaw-droppingly attractive number 19, Emma, I was ready to charm her socks off. Instead, I started sweating profusely and launched into a monologue about Antarctic fauna. I have no idea why. The bell went after what seemed like 10 seconds. As I said goodbye she was already looking at guy number six, probably hoping to say something herself on the next mini-date.
Two girls later was Natalie. She was wearing a daringly short skirt. She opened with:
“Let’s face it; we’re all only here for one thing, aren’t we?”
“Really?” I said, interested. “What’s that?”
“To get laid.”
She Sharon-Stoned her legs.
“Oh! Yes. Right. Um. So have you seen any plays or films recently?”
After the 27 three minute sessions, we had an hour and a half with the bar to ourselves, just speed-daters. This is where speed-dating is brilliant. It was like all bars should be. Bound by a common purpose, anyone could walk up and chat to anyone. It reminded me of happy gap-year days in Asia. Away from the tourist circuit it was perfectly accepted, even expected, to spark up conversation with any other tourists you came across.
I, of course, was still nervous about approaching girls and talked to guys for 90% of the time. The first was Colin, who I saw sitting on his own, looking sad. He had a minor hunch-back, heavily lidded eyes and a voice like an ill mouse. It was his fifth time speed-dating. He was at yet to find a ‘match’ with anyone.
The matching all works over the internet. You log on to the site, then enter you results for each of your dates: ‘yes’, ‘no’ or ‘friend’. ‘Friend’, I’m guessing, is there for girls who mean ‘yes’ but are too well brought up to say so.
You can then see how many ‘matches’ you have. If you and a girl both put ‘yes’, that’s a ‘yes’ match. If one put ‘yes’ and one put ‘friend’, or both put ‘friend’, then that would show up as a ‘friend’ match.
A couple more drinks and I was ready to talk to Emma. After a few minutes of my inane spouting, she went to the loo. I asked her friend, Sheila, to find out if Emma liked me. We devised a signal system. I was to go back to the bar. Sheila would ask Emma if she fancied me. If it was yes, Sheila would rub her eye. If no, she’d hold her left elbow with her right hand.
I went to the bar and waited. Emma came back. They chatted. Sheila turned to me, grabbed her elbow and shook her head vigorously.
I don’t remember leaving, but I remember finding myself walking through Soho with Natalie, the micro-skirt girl with the forthright opinions. We rounded a quiet corner, stopped, and looked into each other’s eyes.
“Your place or mine?” she breathed.
“Um....?” I offered.
“How many people do you live with?”
“Er… Just me.”
“Yours then.” She pulled me by the hand towards a taxi.
Aftermath
There are three types of people who go speed-dating. First, there are people who go in groups for fun, who might not even be single. There was a hen night at my one. Detective skills tell me that at least one of them was taken.
Second are the people looking for love, like the silk-dress girls and Colin. I hope all these people find true love one day, but I don’t think it’s going to be through speed-dating.
Third are the Natalies looking for one night of fun. These people, deep down, are the unhappiest of the three groups and the least likely to find the affection they seek.
As for my evening, I loved it. I met some really fun people and had my eyes opened to whole new world. And as for after? Well I’m allowed to take girls home – I’m single– and I’m glad I did. She turned out to be a doctor of chemistry. Had I found a clever, witty beauty? No. Clever and slutty is great, but not exactly what I’m looking for, long-term. We both knew we wouldn’t be seeing each other again when I dropped her home the next day.
And my results? I got one ‘yes’ match – Natalie - and nine ‘friend’ matches. Which is ok, I reckon.
A few days later I was in the German artist’s flat, naked, being painted. So there’s something new that came out of it. I’ve seen her a few times since, but only platonically. She’s become what I didn’t expect to find speed-dating – a friend.
Verdict
Chance of pulling: ****
Odds of finding true love: *
Fun rating: ****
