Blind date


Hi. I never use these things normally. Bit of a misfit. I’m looking for good friends, good wine, good laughs. I like to go disco danzig. I’m easy going and GSOH. Swipe me!

I recently heard a few tales of online dating. It seems there’s a swag of blokes out there who are great company, are CEOs, have extensive land portfolios and are generally all-round GCs.

That’s what it says in their bio. Yet, they are single. What gives?

And what happens when you swipe right?

Let’s take a walk through a few scenarios.

You swipe right. He seems nice! He’s in Torbay. He wants to meet.

You suggest to meet a nearby café. He rejigs the date so you meet at his. Is this cricket? You don’t want to come off up for it.

Oh well, you’re magnanimous and you are a newbie to this, and your goodwill and excitement at this cool game is overflowing. You pull into the driveway, flick your hair a bit and ring his doorbell.

The next morning at tea break, you tell your workmates of the strange amorphous mass that greeted you at the door. With a white singlet used to strain tea, and no ostensible sense of humour at all, your ‘date’ sized you up like the mussel platter at Valentines. Later, he messages you with his ‘honesty’.

Hey honey, great to meet, but tbh you’re not my body type. But good luck!

You’ve taken your first body blow, but you get back up and back on the horse. The horse takes you to another catch, a musician this time. “That sounds amazing”, you think, only briefly wondering why someone who is a musician is single.

Again you do the danse macabre of arranging the first face-to-face meeting. This time it’s at the Palmers Garden World café and not exactly what you had in mind, but hey, again, you are willing to make this work.

He’s a no-show. That’s strange, you think, because for the week leading up to the date, he was all over you like a cheap suit, sending you pictures of engagement rings and Snap movies of him on his knees with one hand over his chest, and the other extended, Marcus Aurelius styles, with audio of Children by Robert Miles in the background, his favourite artiste. Another thing you are prepared to overlook.

You hear nothing for days and consider deleting the dating app, since the only people coming up in your area are guys with a rat’s tail or screencaps of celebrities like Draco Rosa.

Then, the inexplicable.

The musician (we’ll call him Ricky), texts a sad tale of remorse.

Yeah, I’ve just got a crazy-busy* schedule and a few work things popped up.

You delete the app, have a nice cold shower and continue to walk the walk of sanity, watching a few Micky Flanagan live gigs and you admire how the offline world while at times lonely, seems robustly honest, and then suddenly …

… an old work mate is in town, and without thinking anything into it you meet for coffee, then dinner, then he starts to offer to do a few things for you like shag you and that’s that.

The Torbay guy disintegrates like candy floss in water and Ricky Martin continues to voyeuristically read your every Snap story for the next ten years,



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