After a few weeks of gentle coercion I decided to give in, she was ever so persuasive and she so wanted for me to be as happy as she was.

“Come on, where’s the harm in trying it?” she said, looking at me with those doe eyes. “I mean, you might even like it?” Hopeful now.

“Okay, okay,” I offered reluctantly, “Don’t blame me if it’s a massive disaster though.”

“Yay. Excellent, I’ll sort it out then.” And off she went to arrange my first ever blind date.

The prospective was a good friend of hers from uni, a lawyer earning a good living with his own flat in south London, he was ‘sexy, and intelligent’. I had a feeling of foreboding. I hate the thought of blind dates and every inch of my body was against it, but I relented. Do something that scares you every day, I once read, and, well, I’m a prized wuss so even though I don’t get round to scaring myself every day, I try to from time to time at least, and I had been single for eons and it was time to get back into the game.

The night finally arrived and I turned up with Doe-Eyes and her boyfriend in tow. The plan - group drinks to begin, once we’re chatting of our own accord they’d slope off. The minute I clocked eyes on him I knew it would be a slow night ahead. He was wearing chinos (a bad thing – ask Jonesy), shirt tucked in, a standard issue M&S v-neck jumper, the shoes were unmentionable and his hair was, well, corporate.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I like to get to know someone before I decide whether I like them or not, I tend not to judge based on the shell, but this was a date and I know after years of worldly experience (ahem) that generally, you look out for little signs that you may have common interests or similarities in your personalities, as well as a smattering of individuality, a dash of an edge, that sort of thing.

That’s okay, I thought to myself, maybe it’s his work gear. Don’t be so shallow, give him a chance.

Things did not improve. On discussing the last concert we’d all been to, Orbital (weird and crazy and they were wearing little deely bopper lights on helmets), Coldplay (twice, and they were breath-taking) and him? A cello concerto.

No problem, I like a bit of classical music, let’s see if he likes other types of music…a heated debate ensued on how best to arrange your CDs? A-Z by artist of course, how else would you find anything? (both girls), by genre (Doe-eyes Boyfriend) and “well, I only have about ten and they’re on top of my freezer.” Whoa there, not liking music that much I can deal with, but HE KEEPS HIS CDS ON THE FREEZER. Does he not realise that CD storage requires care? Move on PPQ, move on…okay how about books? Well, he reads the tragedies, but not in English, in Latin, and he doesn’t really like novels.

This did not bode well at all. The other two had sloped off by now so I decided it was time to make a move.

“I’m sorry, I have a huge day of meetings tomorrow, and I have to get up early to catch a train, it was lovely meeting you, but I think I’d better get going.”

And he did the unthinkable. He looked at me, stuck his bottom lip out and pouted.

“Oh, do you have to go now? Have dinner with me at least?”

For some stupid reason I agreed, and it just didn’t get any better. After deciding that he absolutely wanted the chicken, he then ordered exactly what I had, the fish of the day, and proceeded to shovel mouthfuls of the stuff even though it was served on the bone. There followed painful moments of him having to extract the fish bones from his mouth – great huge, half-masticated, saliva-coated bones. I didn’t know where to look.

He talked a lot, about how he didn’t particularly like his family, didn’t understand why he should keep in touch with his siblings as it was only blood that connected them, about the King of Carthage (?) about all sorts, but mostly high brow stuff that just flew over what I thought was my quite intelligent head.

At the end of the meal, I whipped my purse out hoping that he might at least offer to pay (my wallet with cash and cards had been stolen just days before and Doe-Eyes had had to lend me money for the night, all of which he knew). He didn’t offer, worked out the bill and lent me a pound to cover my share.

The final straw came when deciding which tube station to go to. He wanted to go to one and I wanted to go a different but closer one - only five minutes walk from where we were and a stop closer to home for me (and I had the longer journey). He insisted that his choice was closer, I knew it wasn’t. And for God’s sake, the polite girl in me went with his choice. Fool.

Call me crazy but this was not the sort of guy I wanted to get into a dating situation with. I mean sheesh, I look after people all the time because I like it, but is it a crime to want to be looked after from time to time.

Thankfully my tube rolled in quicker than lightning, thus preventing any embarrassing goodbyes, small talk or swapping of numbers.

I got on the tube and heaved a sigh of relief that the night was over.

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