Lloyd Evans has narrated this article for you to listen to.
Free grub, free booze and the chance to fall in love. That’s the deal offered by Blind Date, a matchmaking strand in the Guardian that brings together lonely hearts and asks them to spill the beans. When I applied for this enticing freebie I had no expectation of being chosen, but my email was answered within hours. Amazing. Randy singletons are in short supply among Guardian readers.
I was asked to describe my ‘interests’, which are rather limited. I tend to avoid travel, sport, art, museums, cars, planes, movies, pubs, music, parties, dancing, eating out or holidays. I’m never invited to dinner by anyone or ‘for the weekend’, thank God. I avoid TV, and my idea of hell is ‘a walk in the countryside’. What I really enjoy is theatre, politics and reading comedians’ memoirs. I felt it highly improbable that the Guardian would find someone who liked me. I can’t.
I felt it highly improbable that the Guardian would find someone who liked me. I can’t
The advantage of a blind date is the absence of foreknowledge. Meeting people online means sifting through heaps of data – much of it inaccurate. A typical woman in my age group will claim to like ‘grand opera, Caribbean travel and volunteering at shelters’. A lot of women are dog lovers. No amorous woman will admit to owning a cat – with good reason. A pet is an alter ego that reveals how you relate to others. A dog is a son. A cat is a mother-in-law.
The sleuths at Blind Date found me a potential suitor and invited me in for a photo shoot. This was my first visit to the Guardian. The newspaper is based inside a large-ish glass-fronted building which looks like a mental health charity or a firm of international tax-dodgers.
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