The joy of first dates...

Exactly a week after his wife told him that she was leaving him - the verbal equivalent of her reaching into his chest with her long, cruel fingers, tearing out his beating heart and hurling it against the nearest wall with a 'splut!' - Fred* goes out on a hot date. Once again, I'm partially culpable, as I'm the one who told him of PlentyofFish when we did lunch to discuss the crumbling pillars of his present existence . "Do you think it'd be wrong of me to sign up?" When he called Daphne* a couple of days after fleeing to Cambridge, she told him that she was leaving him before she has a chance to betray him with the guy she's developed feelings for, making it sound like she was doing Fred* a favour.  "Well, considering that Daphne* has made it clear that a reconcilliation is highly unlikely...I think it's perfectly fine." Rebound city, of course, but at least he might have fun. Mind you, the first time he was on the rebound, aged sixteen, he ended up with me. But that's another story...

I decide to go on a hot date as well. In his photos, my date looks possibly ginger ('auburn' being the PC term) and 'possibly Irish' (Gabriel's* comment, insinuating that all red-headed people originate in the land of Guinness). He is, however, articulate, intelligent and baits me with just a tiny bit of flattery:

"I was impressed by your well-written and frank profile - you are clearly more intelligent and self-aware that the majority of the people I've seen on here, and the bit about finding humour in most situations is me down to a tee."

He then shows some insight into my psyche, adding a little challenge that I'd have difficulty resisting:

"If we do go on a date though, be aware that I will be trying to subvert your good manners, asking you impertinent questions and doing my best to provoke you into showing bad behaviour."

His profile showcases a self-deprecating sense of humour, a quiet self-assuredness coupled with a complete absense of cockiness, which I like, and an excellent command of the English language: three things which set him apart from majority of PlentyofFish minnows, whose profiles start with "Erm, not sure what to put here" or who say: "I like all the usual things. If you want to know more, email me." What's the point of having a profile at all if you don't give the other party any reason to get in touch with you?

Actually, the women's profiles are as bad as the men's. Gabriel* and I have a point-scoring system: when surfing, we get points for coming across such recurring gems as ' having a laugh', 'hanging out with friends' and 'curling up on the sofa with a bottle of wine and a DVD' in the Interests box. I have to admit that my profile is really profound and engaging by comparison. Which isn't saying much.

At exactly 6pm, I tottered into B-Bar, having loitered outside for several minutes, cursing my punctuality and not wanting to be the first one there. That would've sent signals of unnecessary eagerness, and I was keen to come across as a cool operator.

When I spotted my date, I was instantly mesmerised by the cardigan. It was composed of horizontal yellow, grey and white stripes, and went with absolutely nothing. There was a sign on the door, stating that a 'formal dress code' is enforced inside. He clearly managed to avoid detection. Still, on him, the cardigan seemed right. I have nothing against man-cardi wearers, though I hasten to add that only people with unique style can pull it off. Case in point: my friend Saturnus*, looking resplendent in his cardi, the woolen garment accentuating his lithe, muscled figure perfectly. With most other people, it's hit-and-miss.

I was highly amused when my date explained to me that one of the perks of living with a female housemate (his ex-girlfriend) is getting good advice on what to wear. "So you forgot to seek her advice on this occasion?" I asked him silently. I, of course,  having cornered the market on sartorial eloquence, was wearing what amounted to the United Nations of the garment world: pinstripe trousers (from Thailand), leather boots (from Brazil), my "Damn, I'm Good!" top (from Spain) and my tour-de-force: a black heavy Soviet naval officer's overcoat with two rows of gold buttons, meant for a six-foot tall male (hence the rolled-up sleeves).

Conversation flowed freely, as did the wine, and my eyes soon acquired that feverish gleam that I get after one drink too many (i.e. two). My date was exactly the same, confessing that he, too, is a complete lightweight and a cheap date as far as drinks are concerned. He seemed relaxed and in a short space of time I learned some factual information: that he is a computer software designer, that he works from home, that he's a Londoner...but more importantly, I learned that he is very self-aware indeed, and has an accurate and well-balanced view of how other people perceive him.

He asked me many questions about myself, listened attentively as I chatted animatedly about my work in Ukraine and about my death row pen pals, and when we got onto the subject of chemical addiction, put forward the view that drugs should be legalised in order to cut out the criminal middlemen, that all stigma should be removed from addiction in order to allow people seek treatment for it freely, without the fear of being judged, and that all the money saved by not having to pursue drug dealers can instead by channeled into medical and psychiatric treatment of addicts, thus curbing both addiction and public spending. He admitted that that was quite a risque thing to come out with on a first date, but it was fine by me: it was my own view, only far more eloquently put.

Things were going well, so I suggested getting some food. He was happy to accept my recommendation of Asia - my mothership, my home away from home. He also made the excellent suggestion of sharing both the starters and the mains. I love sampling different dishes and I love sharing, as long as I get the lion's share. I was mindful of my manners on this occasion, and made sure I didn't outeat him. At the end of the meal, he insisted on paying the bill. Anyone who pays for my food is alright in my book. Chivalry is clearly not dead.

Seriously, though, over the tandoori chicken and the Bengali monkfish curry, it became apparent how similar we are in many different respects - in how we view the world, what we find humour in, what bothers us. And there lies the problem: he is a lot like me. For goodness' sake, like myself, he's even gone out with flawed girls, making them his 'projects', trying to instill in them positive qualities that he felt they were capable of with enough nurturing. Like me, he failed. Talk about a mirror image. I liked him a lot, and got on very well with him, but there was no instantaneous spark, and I don't know if more will come in time, or even whether I'll allow myself to stick around long enough to find that out.

It's something I've been pondering ever since my first relationship, aged sixteen, where it became apparent after three days of going out with Fred* that our relationship was based on nothing more than a mutual liking of Terry Pratchett novels, James Bond Films, funny one-liners, and a healthy dose of emotional turmoil (Fred* had just broken up with his first girlfriend who then proceeded to stalk him). Still, I wondered if our relationship would grow in time, and stuck around, thinking that I might uncover hidden depths. They never materialised, and after five weeks, I got dumped. I was fuming over the fact that I was the dumpee rather than the dumper, especially since I was the one who originally figured out that our relationship wasn't going anywhere. I should've struck out at him pre-emptively.

At the end of the evening, when my date and I were parting, I panicked and shook his hand, as if he were Delroy the Soap Boy, a Darwinian dead end. Instant mortification. We had by then agreed on a second date, though the poor guy must've felt awful, and now I'm not sure how to rectify the situation.

Is romance and a lasting relationship possible even if there's no instant sexual attraction? Why do intelligent, self-aware women go for arrogant, insecure, problematic Alpha males rather than for self-assured, reliable, caring Beta males?

Answers to that, and more, coming up shortly.