After 18 months on the scene, I’m struggling to get anywhere. Can a love coach show me how it’s done? I once made the mistake of going on a Tinder date with an aspiring comedian. By the time our main courses arrived he had shared his full sexual history, including a graphic description of a foursome with some travellers he had met on a couchsurfing site. I had always assumed these were meant for people who needed a cheap place to stay, but apparently at least one doubles as a hook-up app for casual-sex enthusiasts who hate hotel room charges. Eventually, after a long speech on female independence, he told me that he only paid for dinner when the girl was “very attractive”, so I plotted my escape while we split the bill. I thought he would be happy to call it a night, but no such luck. As I scrambled to find an emergency Uber, he grabbed hold of my foot, asking if he could lick my “sexy” toes all night. I declined his offer and spent my journey home wondering if it’s possible to shower your own skin off. There have been plenty of other disappointing dates over the years, including Andy the monosyllabic advertising consultant, Will the food thief who wouldn’t let me finish a sentence, and a Greek racist who would only eat white dairy products. Other encounters have felt more like the icebreaker at a banking conference than the start of a Romeo and Juliet remake. Continue reading...
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