Don’t talk about your ex. Or my ex.


Before the date, he warned me that he got very nervous on first dates and often talked a lot. Fine. So I sat and listened to him talk about himself for the best part of three hours.

Eventually, he paused for breath, looked at me and said:

Date: “I suppose I’d better ask you something about yourself, hadn’t I?”
Me: “That’d be nice”
Date: “So, tell me about your ex-husband.”
Me: “What?”
Date: “Your ex-husband. How did you meet each other, how long were you together and when did it all go wrong?”

Continue reading Don’t talk about your ex. Or my ex.

Personal Space


I’d been seeing a guy for a little while; he lived a long way away, so all our dates had been in restaurants and bars. This meant we hadn’t been to each other’s homes, but one night he finally invited me over to his to stay the night.

We went out for a meal first, but he was on his phone for most of it: “Sorry about this, but work’s manic, I’ve got to check my phone”. When we eventually got back to his, he barely said a word to me, just kept looking at his phone.

I couldn’t work out what had gone wrong, and I wanted to leave. Unfortunately, I was too far from home to get public transport back, and I’d had a few glasses of wine, so I couldn’t drive.

I was stuck at his. He clearly didn’t want me there, but there was nothing that could be done.

Continue reading Personal Space

Ah, Valentine’s Day, we meet again.

Yay, true love.

He sent me a Valentine’s card, even though he knew full well I had a boyfriend. He also posted a video of himself on his Facebook page, singing a song “for the woman I love, and may have lost”.

I spent the day wondering how to respond. I was pretty angry by his assumption that I’d leave my boyfriend for him; loyalty’s very important to me. I was also fuming at his suggestion that I could somehow be “won”, like a goldfish at the fair.

A few hours passed. I was just composing a restrained “Sorry, but you know I’m not available” text, when I checked Facebook again. 

This time, he’d updated his status to “Fuck this, I’m sick of waiting for a response, I’m going back to bed”. 


No, really, you’re too kind


We went out for hot chocolate. He grabbed the bill as it arrived:

Him: “Do you want to see me again?”
Me: “Sure, I’ve had a nice time”.
Him: “Are you sure you want to see me again?”
Me: “Yes, I just said I did”.
Him: “I don’t want to put you on the spot here, but you’re definitely sure that you want to see me again?”
Me: (getting less sure by the second) “errr, sure, yeah”.
Him: “Well, in that case, I would be delighted to pay for your hot chocolate”.
Me: “What?”
Him: “Well, I wasn’t going to offer to pay for it if you’re not going to see me again.”
Me: “It’s a £2 mug of hot chocolate. I’m fully prepared to pay for it myself.”
Him: “I’ll buy it for you if you’re going to see me again”.
Me: “I’d really rather just get it myself, thanks.”
Him: “No, no, no, I insist. My treat.”
Me: “No, really.”

In the end, he bought the bloody hot chocolates. But he never called me again.

“I hate blind dates”


Many thanks to Vince for sending in this story of a terrible, terrible date:

“My friend and his girlfriend set me up with her friend on a blind date; we all met up at the girlfriend’s parent’s house. Within five minutes of meeting, my date told me how she hated blind dates; was only there because her friend insisted; and thought the gaps in my teeth “looked weird”.

We were due to hang out at the house for the weekend. I left 90 minutes after I arrived.”

Thank you Vince! 

If you’d like to share your dating horror story, please click here:

The Architect of Love

He insisted I listen while he read something out to me; a 7 page article from “Architecture Today”. I am reasonably good at doing “polite face” but that was a challenge too far, and around page 5 I started yawning (he didn’t notice, he was too busy reading).

A Date with Adonis


Thanks Sophie for sharing this story of a terrible, terrible date:

“I was on a date in a restaurant with a lad who had just started modelling.

To break the ice, I said, jokingly: “It must be quite boring coming back home after that job in Rome?”

He replied: “Actually, it’s nice not to be surrounded by beautiful women for a change.”

He did try and explain that he’d meant they were quite shallow, the conversation was dull, etc – but I had already mentally stabbed him with my fork.

Thank you Sophie!

If you’ve got a dating horror story to share, please click:

Definitely not a stalker.



I emailed him my number, so he could ring me for a chat. He rang me, withholding his number. Here’s an excerpt from the conversation:

Him: “So, what do you do?”
Me: “I’m a writer and a musician. How about you?”
Him: “Oh, I’m not going to tell you, sorry. You could be a stalker or something.”
Me: “Riiiiight. Hey, for all I know, you could be a stalker too.”
Him: “I’m not”.
Me: “Well, there you go, neither am I”.
Him: “Well, I don’t know that for sure. Do you still fancy a drink?”
Me: “Are you going to tell me what your job is?”
Him: “When I meet you. I have to be sure you’re not a stalker”.

I know I should have run away at this point, and I knew I wasn’t going to be romantically interested in him, but my curiosity was piqued… What was his job? What was he hiding? I had to meet him.

Eventually we arranged a meeting place and time.

Him: “Great. I’ve got your number so if anything changes I’ll give you a call.”
Me: “Fine. What about if I have a problem and need to call you, what’s your number?”
Him: “Sorry, I’m not going to give it to you. You might be a stalker.”
Me: “But you’ve got my number.”
Him: “But I know I’m not a stalker. I don’t know about you though.”
Me: “Riiiiight.”

Don’t argue with a man who’s armed with scissors


Within 20 minutes of meeting him, he murmured in my ear, “So, how about you come round to my house later and give me a blow job?”.

Now, let’s be clear, we weren’t actually on a date or anything (even so, it would have been rather forward…). No.

He was my new hairdresser.

Yes, he was cutting my hair, in the middle of a salon, when he decided to give me the come-on. And I still have no idea, to this day, what compelled him to take that conversational turn. And, no, I didn’t accept his kind offer.

The profile picture of Dorian Gray

He looked lovely in his profile picture; sadly, it turned out it was taken fifteen years ago. While there’s nothing wrong with getting older, it’s not right to mislead someone.

I don’t understand why people lie about things like that; they’re going to be busted straight away.

Some people argue that those lines are fine, as it gives you the best chance of getting a date with someone. But I’m not convinced, and I spent the rest of the date wondering what else he was lying about.

Anyway. We didn’t have much to talk about and there was no chemistry at all. He called me the next week to ask me out again; I politely declined and told him that I didn’t think there was a spark there.

He then lectured me for five minutes about being too quick to judge; he felt that we should go on a few dates before I could possibly know whether we had chemistry or not. I said no thank you again, a little more firmly this time.

“It’s your loss”, he told me.

the anorak of love


Hey, here’s our first guest post! Thanks Debs for sharing this story of a terrible, terrible date:

“We went to the cinema, and he turned up wearing the ugliest orange anorak I’d ever seen. After the film, he said he needed the loo and asked me to hold his jacket.

He was in the loo for about half an hour, while I was left as the weirdo hanging around outside the men’s with a bright orange thing under my arm! I’d have run off, or assumed he’d done the same, if I wasn’t holding the damn thing!

When he came out, he took his jacket, said he was tired and went home.

I did see his unattended anorak in the library a few weeks later, but needless to say, I didn’t stick around in case he asked me to hold it again!”

Thank you Debs!

If you’ve got a dating horror story to share, please click:

Don’t use the phrase "Sperm Donor" on a date. Just don’t.

He spent the start of our date complaining about his ex: “She never loved me, she just saw me as a sperm donor!”.

He also spent the middle part of our date complaining about her “I love my daughter, even though my ex just sees me as the man who donated the sperm to make her!”.

By the end of the date: “My ex is a heartless cow! I’m just a sperm donor to her!”, I was wearing a rictus grin & contemplating stabbing myself to death with a spoon.

I kept a tally of how many times he used the phrase “sperm donor”. Nine times. That’s nine times too many.

Lost In Translation



Text received after first date: “I’m sat here in my blue underpants, contemplating whether to abuse myself or not”.

In fairness, English wasn’t his first language. But still, it remains the least erotic text I’ve ever received ever ever ever.

Fluent in Body Language

We were in a restaurant. I put the menu on the table in front of me, and leaned forward to read it. As I did so, I rested my hands on my elbows. 

Him: “You’ve crossed your arms. You must be feeling uncomfortable”.
Me: “I’m fine. I’m just reading the menu.”.
Him: “But you wouldn’t cross your arms unless you were feeling uncomfortable. I’ve studied body language. Everything you do means something.”
Me: “Yes, it means that it’s comfy for me to have my arms like this, while I’m reading the menu”.
Him: “But you wouldn’t have done it unless you were feeling uncomfortable”.
Me: “I’m fine, really”.
Him: “Are you feeling uncomfortable?”
Me: “Now I am”.

He continued to comment on my body language and facial expressions (despite me repeatedly asking him not to) until I ended the date, forty minutes after it started.

Something on the Side



“The thing is, I’ve got a girlfriend. But you live quite close to my parents. Maybe, whenever I’m visiting them, we could, you know, casually hook up?”

Terrible, terrible conversations from terrible, terrible dates.