The date was a FLOP


Flashback to my blog around October/November 2017 when I was blogging about going on a date with a guy I had known for about three years or so. After a series of depressive slumps and general lack of motivation, I’m now ready to explain what happened! The boy wasn’t the cause of my low mood, however when you’re feeling shitty the last thing you want to do is post something about something shitty. Ya get me, huns? Moving on. This post has been in draft since about December 2017 and I’m bringing it to life! XO

I may as well have just shat £700 down the toilet. Slight exaggeration, however that’s how much I’m down after my London antics. The weekend was overall just OK. I caught up with my best friend on the first night there – we drank fizzy, cart-wheeled around casinos and chased each other round the tubes (apologies, London, if you were affected by our presence). I actually woke up the next day with a cookie smudged against my pillow and half-eaten wrap at my feet. Where did COGG acquire these delicious snacks? COGG doesn’t have a fucking clue.

Now let’s talk about Saturday. Date day. The day that would be making or breaking my love-life (spoiler, I’m still horrifically single). I was a nervous wreck to begin with; I was hungover to high fuckery, hadn’t showered and was wearing last night’s clothes. The hotel also wouldn’t let me check in early, leaving me about twenty minutes before the date rocked up. I finally showered and made myself look a solid 11/10 and went to meet him.

He was well presented and just like I had seen from FaceTime and his social media. Taller than me, and was wearing a sheep-skin coat or something. I don’t have a clue. Anyway, first of all we went for a walk. With him being a regular to Landan Tan, I let him take the lead. We walked across a natural bridge, made small-talk and, I guess, looking back it was doomed from the start. The conversation was steady, but relatively slow and at some points awkward. I’d give an example, but I’m typing this up seven (or so) months after the date. Ever-so efficient, me!

After mooching, we headed to a ping-pong bar which was honestly shamazing. I would HIGHLY recommend going to one – either for a date, with your mates, for a birthday. Anything. Imagine low-lights, a room full of ping-pong tables and shit tonnes of beer. Balls were flying everywhere, drinks were flowing, music pumping. Generally, a class experience. Throughout this we had a giggle, and our competitive sides started showing. It was fun though, and when I thought the date was going to be a flop – I felt this would have turned it around.

The next section is where the date ~actually~ turned sour. We left the ping-pong bar and started walking towards our dinner reservation. The conversation was silent, and we passed a homeless man outside a shoe-shop. COGG, being the Kween of Comedy, glances at the man and nudges Mr Date. “It’s shit weather for camping eh?” In my head, I was hilarious – and Mr Date would fall to the ground in stitches.

Instead, he twats me round the head. It wasn’t one of those nudges that were gentle and could be received as “that was funny, but inappropriate, stop”. You get what I mean? It was an actual brain shaker – there was some force behind it. After being humiliated once before in public a few years prior, I’d promised myself I’d never let a lad (or anyone) treat me like dirt or embarrass me. I saw red immediately, however played the Good Wife and ignored it. I actually wanted this date to work, so didn’t want to reveal my inner psycho just yet. It was a deal-breaker for me regardless, I knew in the long-run if things did work out – they wouldn’t.

From then on the rest of the evening was sub-par. He made me feel uncomfortable by taking me to the fanciest restaurant I’d ever seen. I was out of place and my outgoing, playful character didn’t suit the wall decors or steamed napkins. We then went for a final drink before we dispersed and conversation had truly ran dry. There were no more giggles, no more small talk, and I was still mulling over the fact I’d just had my head smacked by, really, a stranger. I remember he was on his phone a little bit, not in a rude way, but more than he had been the rest of the day. This was absolutely fine, I had people messaging also who I needed to reply back to that day – no biggy.

No biggy until he stood up, took a phone-call, came back and said “You’re going to hate me, but I’ve got to go” He left, and I have genuinely never heard from him since. No messages explaining his disappearing act, nothing on any social media. Fuck all, huns. Practically ghosted me in front of my face. I gave it a few days or so, then unfollowed him from everything. Blocked his number, the lot; I’m extremely unforgiving and act in the moment.

I remember being angry, bitter, heartbroken almost: I hadn’t visited the UK in a whole year, saved up money for the date and had my time wasted. Now, though, I look back and roll my eyes. He wasn’t all that, I  just put all my eggs and hopes into one basket and it was clearly the wrong decision to make.

Love ya (not you though Mr Date Man, ya wanker)



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