Jane Goes on a Date #2

  Last Saturday, despite the Siberian blizzard that covered the streets of London in a duvet of snow - causing all sorts of transport disruption as is customary for the unprepared capital, Jane and her friends were determined not to let a few inches of frozen rain spoil a Saturday night out. It was here that Jane managed to secure Date Number Two:


Jane

  The launch night of 'The Mango Sessions' at Dalston's fashionable Vision Video Bar, hidden within the nooks and crannies of Kingsland Road, was too good a dancing opportunity to be missed, with all our favourite tropical funk and world beats. Alas, as with all the other fantastic London clubs that play this incredible style of music, the place was bound to be full of middle-class toffs who reckon themselves awfully cultured, much like the majority of the 'new' East London-Shoreditch-Dalston crowd. And yet, perhaps to hide the fact that they have all the wealth they desire at their privately-schooled fingertips, they often opt for the tramp-chic attire, donning the pretentious, casual 'i-don't-care-for-material-things-by-the-looks-of-my-shoddy-garments' look. So naturally, when I attend these sorts of clubs I know full well that I won't come across any men than I find attractive (Yes we've established I end up going for poor guys, but I'd much rather go for someone with no wealth that presents himself as half decent, than a rich man who dresses like a pauper!) 
It just so happened that one of these plain, white, middle-class toffs took a liking to me, as I could feel his eyes following me around the dancefloor as he danced in that devil may care way (code word for uncoordinated) that they are akin to. He'd plucked up the courage to approach me, stating "Would it be awful forward of me to comment on how lovely you look in that dress?"
My usual reaction would be to thank him for his kind compliment and avoid eye contact for the rest of the night, to establish that he hadn't a chance. However, purely for the sake of the blog - and the words of a handful of friends/readers of  Tarzan and Jane in the London Jungle resonating in my head, that I need to branch out of my comfort zone in terms of the men I date to bring some variety into my accounts... this one is for you T - I gave him my number and arranged a dinner later in the week. TIP: if the man seems surprised that you have shown an interest after all, clearly they realise they are far below your league. Avoid them. Unless you have a quota to reach because of some blog you must write!

   We met on a bitingly cold Tuesday evening, arranging to eat at a little Italian tapas style place in Soho that he had been meaning to try for a while. Luckily, seeing as it was minus four degrees outside, we arrived at the same time. I'm not normally known for my punctuality but it was far too cold to dilly dally around. When he approached, I was both offended and perturbed at the fact he was wearing his glasses! Who wears their glasses to a date?! He had clearly made an effort at the club and worn contact lenses. Anyone who knows me well, knows I detest specs! Having been cursed with the eyesight of a common mole myself at the tender age of ten meant I was forced to be four-eyes. I switched swiftly to contacts as soon I was of age, and have since believed that everyone looks better without glasses obscuring one's face.
Admittedly, it was the first time I'd been on a date where I wasn't remotely attracted to the lad (oh... except one other time I'd met a Spanish chap at a badly-lit bar, and in the light of day during our first and only date I realised that actually he was not Spanish and handsome, but an average Pakistani guy, with that awful box facial hair design)
It wasn't that this toff was unattractive, he was just not to my taste. Rather plain, no distinguishing features. Just another face in the crowd. However we did have a lot to talk about as he was also well travelled and interested in the same sort of stuff as me; literature, theatre, and all other manner of snobbery, which I quite enjoy. Now you can't be calling me a hypocrite, as I probably sound like one of these middle-class youth that I have been insulting, because as a born and bred North West Londoner I can't possibly be put in the same category as them.... and I don't mean the leafy suburbs of Hampstead or Golders Green either - more like zone 4. Oo-er. But in his defence, he did know who Ms. Dynamite-ee-hee was, though I'm not sure how that conversation arose. 
  So we settled into the restaurant, Polpetto, which is a small space above a pub with the most over-priced, tiny portions known to man. The food was pretty average, and we shared three or four dishes between us. Though we also indulged a bit, thanks to the stingy portions, and ordered three desserts to share. One particular dessert had my palette in a tizz; the white chocolate mousse infused with bay leaves. It was all wrong! How can you mix bay leaf with sickly sweet white chocolate?! And yet... it reminded me of some of my brother's delicious curries that always have a sweet edge to them due to the copious amounts of jaggery he adds.
    As the toff worked long hours as a trader/banker/some boring field of work that doesn't sound particularly creative, he was ready to head home once dinner was over, which suited me perfectly. I was further relieved to discover he had to take the Piccadilly line home whereas it was the Bakerloo for me, so I was able to make a swift exit without any physical contact as a farewell. He seemed like a rather bright lad, intelligent enough to read my subtle uninterested signals - I was never so rude to appear bored and made sure I was animated with all our conversations.
  
  Part of me saw this date as a nice, evening meal (he paid for it all, of course, despite my weak protests) with a stranger who I could speak to at length about myself with the knowledge that he wouldn't judge me too harshly as he finds me attractive. The other part of me felt rather frustrated as it was a waste of my time, a perfunctory dinner knowing nothing would come of it. I may not be looking for a relationship, but should I really be going on a date knowing there will be no follow up, just for the sake of the blog? I'm sure the negative feelings attached to this are purely because I didn't think him good looking. Once again, I'm haunted by the emphasis I put on my attraction to a man's body before I can even think about exploring his mind...

Tarzan Enters the Web

  With Jane dominating the Jungle trek at the moment, Tarzan is keen not to be left behind. Equipped with a stylish flat-cap to shade from the glare of the tropical sun (or rather the glare of the computer screen) and a trusty walking stick (mouse) to help him navigate around the large, unforgiving wilderness, Tarzan enters the online dating scene. As Jane stubbornly refuses to participate in online dating, being a bit of a traditionalist, someone has got to do it. Here are the explorations of our brave leading man:



Tarzan


Well so far I have been rather off the boil on the dating scene and instead have been hunting for a new home - up in the trees with my animal friends - and I can now reveal that I’ve found one... whoop whoop. So to try and catch up with Jane I decided to make the big step and join a dating site. Dun Dun dunnnnnnnnnn!

Even more free advertising for Lovestruck
They need to feature us on their website at this rate

Me being a Media Professional (I use the word professional in the most loosest sense) I went for Lovestruck.com – ‘the busy peoples dating website’. I have no idea why I choose that particular one as I am not exactly busy... just damn lazy. However they do annoyingly advertise on spotify and have that shitty tube advert about the one sitting there next to you, as if going to work on a cold January morning is a freaking sliding doors movie. Anyway...


So the profile was set up; I went for a quick, short introduction, as I have noticed that I didn't read profiles that were too long. I said a little about me, enough for people to ask some questions and enough information to show what I was looking for. Then added some of my best pictures and bang... there I was on the internet for strangers to see and judge me on my personality and looks.

One of my profile pictures... Enticing and other-worldly!

So far I haven’t received one lousy email, a bit like real life really. TIP: Don’t do this if you think it might make you feel better, you have to put in a lot of freaking work. Infact you have to seem much more interesting than you actually are by mentioning such things as your favourite books and films etc. And you can’t say Rocky 4, no women wants to watch that with you... go for feminine independent bullshit like 'Wrist Cutters - A Love Story'. Or maybe I just need to work on my face.
However they do offer a winking service much like the ‘poking’ on Facebook but less sexual. And I have been getting a few winks. I wish they were the other W word that ends in a K but no this website does not do that sadly. Thailand dating websites might.
So far all the winkers weren't really my type or just never freaking got back to me so why wink...? WHY?!
The next stage I felt was to browse the single women on the site using their matching service, and have since been firing emails off to attractive funny girls. I even got some responses. Hurrah!
The email exchanges have been rather like normal conversations; What do you do? How long have you lived in London? I have been trying to throw in some different questions in there, to set me out from possibly the hundred other emails these fine ladies get. Or so I presume. I am sure many of these guys use dating websites just to trawl for sex. TIP: Beware ladies, I actually know this for a fact as some of these reprobates are my friends.
Below is a example of one of my email exchanges with a fine fettle to show me in action!
You look too good for me - me (sent drunk at 2am)
-her (no response)
So what you up to ? Stuck in on a Saturday that can’t be right ? - me (one week later - I knew she was online as the site tells me) 
- her (still no response)
Hey there!
How did the weekend go?
I just watched a film called The Crazies scary !
Have you been to Zumba this weekend? Zumba is freaking awesome I often do this dressed as the 118 man I look freaking cool as - me (I just kept going like the biggest loser in town, I don’t even know what Zumba is, I think it’s some kind of voodoo witch doctor weather dance from Zambia)
Hello!
Great weekend! Bit of shopping, a few meals out and a cinema trip! Sadly no Zumba!
How has your weekend been? Never seen/heard of The Crazies! Any good? - her (Response!!! See, if you nag long enough they will respond. I am a stalker in real life too, just so you know) 


A response! Come on Mr Tarzan, finally! After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing I sent her my number and told her to text me sometime for a date. She responded and said she was busy this week but would definitely text me to meet up for a beer sometime soon. Half a result.


I may not be the best at this online dating thing but I will carry on trying, I promise, and by the end of next week I am sure I will have a date. You never know maybe I will end up getting married, owning a farm with a few chickens, strolling around in the sunset picking flowers for her in our massive field with barley growing in the distance and she staring lovingly at me as the wind blows about her hair. Or I could end up meeting with someone only to find out she is a lot larger than I expected. (TIP: Beware of anyone with face-only profile pictures!) Then we'll get drunk as the conversation is going nowhere, make out as it has gotten too awkward, invite her back to mine to keep drinking as I can't afford any more drinks but now I’ve got that beer buzz and can’t stop and none of my friends are answering their texts. We will get back to mine, I will feel obliged to have sex with this girl twice my size, who seems to like to twist my little nipples and I don’t have the courage to say anything or the strength to get her off me. The sex will go on forever as I am unable to come and all I can think about is how did Sirius Black stay undercover all that time? And why Harry's mother didn't love him when he clearly loved her more than anything. Poor guy... 
  

Jane Goes on a Date #1

  To celebrate the creation of their blog, Tarzan and Jane went out a few weeks back for a tipple or three. The initial premise of the night was to introduce Jane to one of Tarzan's single friends (Poor Tarzan is still waiting rather impatiently for Jane to pull through with her side of the 'set-up' date). The friend seemed to tick all the boxes for Jane before she'd met him - Greek, good body, tanned - but alas in person she discovered that she has had more than her fair share of short, Greek men. That chapter of the Odyssey is well and truly over. 
    As the night progressed, Tarzan and his droogs thoroughly entertained. There was some under-age chatting up, plenty of drinks flowing and even a little bar fight involving Tarzan and an angry young man swinging his weight all over the place. In the meantime, Jane was struggling to keep warm as the bar staff had left the entrance doors wide open, allowing the cold, winter breeze to gatecrash the party. As she battled with the heavy doors, a rather dashing, young Italian man stood by with an amused expression and offered to help. Soon after they exchanged numbers... this is how the first date went:


Jane

Jon Bernthal

 Usually the hours before a date are filled with dread, as the nervous bundle inside my stomach starts to prod at me uncomfortably. However, this last minute, Saturday night date was met with a calm attitude and low expectations. We met near Bond Street. I was late as usual. My date was tall, handsome and Italian... not bad for the first date of the year. He reminded me of a young Jon Bernthal (shaved-head version of Shane from The Walking Dead) I approved. 
 
  The restaurant he chose was possibly the best Neapolitan cuisine in central London - Sartori in Leicester Square. The queue to get in made my stomach growl with impatience, but before I had a chance to sulk the Italian pushed past to the front, had a quick word with the maître d' and we were seated in seconds. 
Our wine glasses were constantly topped up and the delicious and authentic wood-fire baked pizza arrived before we managed to finish half a glass of red. As conversation flowed, all the usual, safe subjects like work, travel, hobbies were covered. I had to bear in mind that the Italian had only been in London for 2 months and though his English was good, with the slight language barrier it wasn't as if we could delve into subjects such as politics and theology. When dessert arrived - he asked me to pick as there were too many choices and he had a relentless sweet-tooth - I was in awe. The panna cotta was the silkiest, most exquisite pudding I'd ever tasted. I actually sighed with pleasure.
   Despite the knowledge that he earned half as much as I did (yes, yet another handsome but not so wealthy man... I can't seem to escape that) he settled the bill and wouldn't let me contribute despite my protests. TIP: If a man is taking a woman out on the first date he MUST MUST pay the bill. If you can't afford it then don't take her out. This doesn't have to apply to all of the subsequent dates, but the first... it's essential!
    He wasn't yet ready to call it a night, so we headed to Verve just round the corner- good ol' Verve! I don't think I've ever had a bad date there. At one point he took his phone out to show me the time and I glimpsed at the picture on the screen; the Italian with his arm around some girl. 
  "So..." I started, "Is that your girlfriend?" He looked rather apologetic and admitted that "it is coming to an end" and that she was "my Spanish girlfriend from when I did a season in Ibiza last year." Ermmmm. Right. I don't encourage cheating in any shape or form, but he assured me "I am here with you because I think you are lovely." Bloody men, ey? I didn't want to get involved in his domestics, and whether he was lying to his girlfriend or not was not my problem. The last thing on my mind this year is getting into a relationship. Still... I gave him a (light) slap for his cheek!
  A few more glasses of red and I realised I'd missed the last train, though I'm sure that was deliberate on the Italian's part. We ended up leaving at 3.30, but not before he reminded me that he finishes work tomorrow at six and would like to see me again.... Nah too soon. I need my beauty sleep.

Enter the Jungle

Nice bit of free advertising...

   Rather than catapulting head-first into the unpredictable wilderness, Tarzan and Jane arrive into the jungle using the tourist entrance – in the shape of Lovestruck.com’s rather casual singles night. The evening promised free entry (a major deciding factor) and “a higher-than-average number of single people”, without the gimmick of games, rules and nametags.  

The Venue

A short walk away from Tower Hill station, amongst the spotless and almost deserted streets that is characteristic of the city after working hours, stands Gilt Bar.
Unfortunately, on this occasion, Tarzan - the little bastard - decided to make like a dandruff and flake. Due to other "important" obligations he felt it fitting to leave poor Jane on her own in the jungle. Luckily, Jane's sister stepped in to accompany her. This is how Jane's night panned out:

Jane

One of the fundamental factors to consider before any date or evening out is one's attire and appearance. How you choose to present yourself is key in influencing first impressions and will play a massive part in the kind of people you will attract. For example, the last person I dated some months back arrived at our first date with a dapper shirt/jumper combo, to which I instantly approved. Then he turned up to all the subsequent dates in the very same outfit...! He had to go. TIP: It's not just the lady that has to make the effort, a different outfit for every date is a must - at least for the first month. I can often go up to three months without having to wear the same thing twice. This has nothing to do with my addiction to dresses, of course.

Talented nail artiste Henna is currently taking bookings:
fruitytropical@hotmail.co.uk

So, to mark the beginning of a brave new chapter as I relocate to the dating jungle, I thought it fitting to make an extra effort. The colour scheme of the day was black and white. A lovely new black and white dress, black and white coat and of course matching nails. When a woman came up to me specifically to comment on my outfit, it made it all worthwhile. 

I arrived at the place feeling apprehensive. It suddenly struck me as rather seedy, knowingly entering a place where everyone is solely looking to pick up or be picked up. We'd missed the happy hour by minutes, but a cheeky smile to the barman meant I managed to snag a bottle of red for a discounted price. I'd told myself I wasn't going to drink so I could concentrate on my dating research, but I'd never been to anything like this before, preferring to meet men the normal way, on an off chance, rather than to go looking for it. I easily polished off the bottle with very little help from my sister.

After putting our coats away and noticing that some ladies had arrived alone (one in particular who waited behind us in the queue to the cloakroom, dressed awfully casual in jeans, jumper and boots, kept giving us the evil eye... she should have thought of making an effort and chucking a bit of slap on her face then, shouldn't she!?) we went to explore. The venue was split between two rooms, a bar in each one. At the beginning of the night the place was reminiscent of a school disco. The lads on one side, drinking their beers and checking out the women at a distance, the ladies on the other sipping their wines and checking out the competition. There was a sense of collective embarrassment as everyone clearly knew they were there for the same reason... that they're single and desperate! (At least I had my excuse of coming here for the sake of research...)

TIP: If you're looking to seriously dive into the dating scene I wouldn't particularly recommend these singles parties. It's best for those who just want to dip their toe in for a bit of fun. The fact that there were no games to act as an ice breaker and no rules to adhere to (except one: to have a red straw in your glass if you were single. Not particularly effective when everyone was either drinking wine or beer...) made it rather difficult. What is the protocol? Do you make eye contact and head for the kill? Do you wait for him to approach? How is this any different to a normal night out at a bar or club, except for the fact you know everyone is single?

I didn't have to worry about answering any of these questions as the general clientèle fell into a few categories that didn't suit my tastes whatsoever: 

• 
  Old - most of the men and women looked over 35. One woman in her forties seemed intent on recapturing her youth as she donned a tartan mini skirt, lacy tights and dolly shoes. Shudder.
• 
  Unattractive - or as I like to call them 'Bugly'. There were a handful of mediocre looking men and the rest I daren't look twice, lest they assume I'm interested. The only other attractive woman in the place was a cute young lady we had befriended in the loo. I ended up playing matchmaker for her as she pointed out the men that she found attractive.  Our code word was 'I'm parched' if we weren't interested, and 'I need to go toilet' if we were revolted.
• 
  Over-friendly - NEVER EVER ENTER MY INTIMACY ZONE! I don't like anyone coming too close to my face. Just because I'm single, doesn't mean I'm interested. We're British... we don't need to greet someone we've just met with a kiss on both cheeks. A handshake is perfectly adequate, and even that is pushing it.

A little later in the night it certainly resembled a jungle during mating season; when the females are on heat and the males circle around them, fighting for their attentions. I found it hilarious how, with the confidence of intoxication, the men started to inch closer towards the women. Clearly it was slim pickings, as some of the half-decent looking men ended up conversing with some aesthetically challenged women. Perhaps these men thought that coming home from a singles night without a number was a failure. Then again, of course, not everyone is quite so shallow as me. I must work on that flaw.

I was beginning to feel that all my preparations to look presentable were wasted on this sorry bunch. And then, like an orchid amongst the weeds, a tiger amongst the hyenas... I saw 'Eyebrows'. He was the only handsome man in the bar, with his chiselled jaw and kind, beautiful green eyes. But the stand-out feature was his thick, modelesque eyebrows. I'm a sucker for good eyebrows. It wasn't long till I started a conversation, only to find out that he and his not so attractive friend frequented this bar after work and had no idea that it was a singles evening. When I asked which straw they would sip from, red for single or black for taken, the plain looking friend said red (as if I care) and Eyebrows replied... black. Sigh.

  According to Nancy Etcoff's psychological research, "when a human sees an attractive face the reward centers in the brain fire" these powerful rewards include endorphins, dopamine, epinephrine... happy drugs for the brain. I couldn't agree more. I didn't even mind that Eyebrows was taken because we were able to talk about all sorts of crap without having to worry about impressing each other. I would much rather talk and laugh with a beautiful man that I have no chance with, than converse with an unattractive single one. I wasn't surprised that he had a woman, as unlike his rather rude and abrupt friend, he was charming, funny and a pleasure to talk to.

I left that night in high spirits. I may not be looking for the man of my dreams any time soon, but I'm happy to pick up some friends along the way.

   Will Jane's insatiable search for beauty hinder her chances to snag a date? Will the elusive and mysterious Tarzan ever turn up to an event? Join Tarzan and Jane again next month as they delve deeper in the London Jungle.

Introductions

The London dating scene can easily be likened to a vast, unfriendly jungle. There’s the slimy snakes who try to slither their way under one’s skirt; the numerous flowers with their colourful make-up - competing for the male bees’ attention, hoping he’ll fly over and pluck her nectar, and of course there’s all the randy animals that care for nothing else but to get laid.

    Having both been dumped a few months ago in rather harsh and complicated circumstances, colleagues Tarzan and Jane have decided to embark upon a varied dating adventure within London to bring some much needed excitement into the new year. Be it speed dating, set ups, blind dates or anything in between, they’ve got it covered – with detailed, humorous and frank accounts of every monthly date and event.

    So let us meet our protagonists:

Tarzan 

Twenty-eight year old Media Professional and dreamer, born in the cold North East of England but has found homes all around the world. Tends to be attracted to women who are unattainable either due to their lack of interest or distance. One day hopes to own a big boat and sail the world but until then meeting new people and socialising will have to do, so looking for someone who wants to be part of my adventure, all aboard.

Relationship History: Couple of one year relationships which ended due to one of them leaving the country or falling out of love and one relationship that went on and off for 5 or so years

Jane

Twenty-five year old freelance continuity writer and holiday go-er (travels come first), born and bred in North-West London. Tends to go for the pretty but poor men, with a preference for Mediterranean/European/South American... the more mixed the heritage the better. A few examples of the handsome but financially unstable men that Jane has encountered in the past: once had to top up a date’s oyster card so he could afford to go home. Another unemployed date insisted that they split the dinner bill and even made for the toilet just before the bill arrived. As expected these men lasted no more than two or three rather reluctant dates.

Relationship History: Two long-term boyfriends, both were half Greek and frequently unemployed, lasting between 2.5 – 3.5 years.