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January 2004: PAUL SMITH'S DEVIANT'S DIARY - Speed Dating: Guaranteed intercourse with twenty strangers for just £20.
In my ongoing search for grownup entertainment it was only a matter of time before I thought about meeting girls. In the words of Patrick MacNee and Honor Blackman: Sweet girls, street girls, frumpy little beat girls, square girls, cool girls- I did draw the line at sexy little schoolgirls, though. Things have changed since the 60s. Having missed speed dating for £5 at Erotica when it was cancelled due to lack of female interest, I had to rely on a Tube poster to put me on the right track. Mere days later I was in Oxford (I could have gone to Luton, which is closer to me, but I figured why the hell would I want to do a crazy thing like that?) looking for a parking space.
The great thing about Speed Dating, from a business perspective, is that any idiot can organise meetings. There's none of that annoying compatibility form printing or 'computer matching'. Not even the laughable pretence of it. All you need is around twenty men and twenty women (at £20-a-head. You do the math) and a venue to host the event. They do all the hard work, sorting out who fancies whom from whom. All the information the hosts need is e-mail addresses with which to play snap. Hand out a flyer with a few words of safety advice on it (Meet in a public place whilst wearing a condom. Leave the axe at home… That kind of thing) plus matching forms, badges and pens and that's your work all but done. On the subject of the venue, my experience took place in a wine bar complete with a totally superfluous DJ on the Dex. One wonders what deal was struck between the organisers and the bar. Which way would money flow if you could promise the manager 40 extra thirsty mouths? And they will be thirsty - Twenty times three-minute conversations equate to around half-an-hour of solid talking and a very dry mouth. When was the last time you spoke that much in one go? After dinner speech? Grovelling apology? The other thing is the organisers specifically warned people off mentioning sex, leaving a clear gap in the market for alternative speed dating, where the first question can justifiably be, "How do you feel about anal?"
[Dale, the following bit is highly optional, hehehe! (Best
Sid James laugh) If it gets dropped you'll need to edit/lose the conversation
below]:
Perhaps adding '8" cock' below my name on the badge they gave me
was a mistake, but then, when was advertising ever a mistake? It was
certainly an icebreaker. Looking back, perhaps I shouldn't have used
it to break peoples' ice. No lady likes a strangers' old chap in her
Baileys®.
A typical three-minute conversation went like this:
…Bye. Hi, I'm Paul. Hello Paul, I'm Sally. Hello Sally, I like your…err…ears.
Earrings! [A moment's awkward silence while she reads my badge] So,
Sally, what do you do? I work with underprivileged children. That
must be very rewarding. Oh yes, but it's hard work. [Forced laughter
all round] I can imagine. What about you Paul, what do you do? Oh,
I'm a journalist. Really? That's amazing! I do hope you're not doing
a piece on Speed Dating. [More forced laughter, mostly on my part]
Don't worry Sally, I'm here to meet a hot chick, not write about it,
I promise. Right. Well, ok then. [More awkward silence.] What do you
like doing? I enjoy travelling. So do I. Cool. [I notice her eyes
dip to my badge again] I went to Milan in April, for a pound. Wow,
that was cheep. Yes it was. [She's going to ask!] I had a week in
Oslo in the summer. It's beautiful. Have you ever been? No, but I've
always liked the idea of visiting Scandinavia. You should, it's lovely.
Perhaps I'll go next year. Great. By the way, your badge- Ting! Time
up! Everyone change please! Well, it was lovely meeting you Sally.
You too Paul. Cheerio. Bye. Hi, I'm Paul…
On occasions I produced an A4 printed page of photographs from my world travels and other experiences. The reaction this received seemed to suggest I was walking the fine line between inventive and nutter, but it did mean I was never short of something to talk about. Even if it was only to defend my sanity. After the event I spoke to a lovely fellow speed dater called Kate. This is her sensible ladies perspective:
"When a friend suggested speed dating, my first thought was quite simply no way! I eventually came round to the idea, after all, how hard could it be? The answer - Very hard! It felt more like the first day at school than an evening with a number of potential dates.
I'm not sure about men, but women like to plan things carefully, so we spent a while before the event started discussing good first lines. Something funny but not too rude or offensive, something to get you remembered. Two glasses of wine to calm my unfamiliar nerves later, my friend and I sat down at our tables. Far enough apart not to hear what the other was saying, but close enough to gain support if we needed it! Did the lines work for me? No! There weren't any chat-up lines used all evening from either sex. Instead it was just polite small talk and then that infamous school bell sounded and you rushed to scribble some notes before the next male arrived, card in hand.
The time went really fast and truthfully it was one of the best nights I've had in ages. My aim wasn't to gain loads of dates (lucky, because I didn't get any - the matches I got were all from men who were honest enough to say they ticked everyone to see who ticked them back!) but to meet a variety of different people and learn about them, and that's just what I did. My friend and I both got a lot out of it and would you do it again. I'd encourage anyone to try speed dating because it's an experience you'll not forget. You just never know the outcome!"
My visual aid wasn't the hit I'd hoped for. Beyond being a surreal night out it was a disaster, romantically. On the web site two days later a sad message appeared: Paul, you have no matches. You have received one ticks. One ticks. That's rubbing my nose in it. Even the site assumed I'd get at least two, otherwise it would've said, 'you have received one tick(s)'. This meant none of the girls who'd caught my eye took a shine to me but one of the girls I didn't fancy fancied me, reflecting the harsh reality my life. Coupling it's not.
Next Month: Everything you ever wanted to know about socks, but were afraid to ask.
Paul Smith is still free to a good home. Kinky Job offers to info@snapsandbytes.co.uk please.
Around 1100 words on my (and Kate's) experiences Dale - 100% true,
guaranteed*.
Paul.
*This isn't a legally binding statement.