Love in the Time of Vodka 7

1 March 2008

Stop press! Valentine’s Day has redeemed itself.I had a Valentine.I now have a date.And it’s all thanks to TCS.

It’s a year since this charming newspaper last gave my faltering love-life a helping hand.This time twelve months ago I was giving myself double the trouble with two of my fellow editors at once (those were the days…). This time around it’s a former writer – whom I’ve never yet met. Apparently my Facebook profile made a good impression and several anonymous Valentine emails later, I’m off to the middle of nowhere (ok, more than five minutes from Sainsbury’s) for my mystery date. Yep, some people may say creepy; others romantic—I say, never miss the chance of securing fodder for next week’s column… After all, it’s not every day someone sets up a gmail account just to tell you you’re gorgeous.Most of the time it’s only twice a week.

I must admit my first thought was “Damn, wish I’d thought of that.”However, I’ve since been reliably informed that this whole faceless seduction business is a one-way system and any man will run in mortal fear from such messages. Pity, as I’m fairly sure gazing dreamily in his direction whilst failing to say anything of remote intellectual value is never going to win the attention of that guy in my seminar. Nor do I think TCS is going to help me out with this one—he writes for Varsity.

Still, Contrary Mary that I am, my excitement levels re: this mystery date haven’t quite reached the astronomic heights of my mother’s. After years of hoping for an older man (David Attenborough being a particular object of desire) and all in vain, I finally decided that it was imperative to date as many young fellow undergraduates as possible before I simply got too ancient. So of course that’s when a post-grad decides to pop up. All the same, nerves seem to be getting the better of me…I’ve just consumed a whole pack of jaffa cakes in under ten minutes.

Postscript.Date did not revolutionise state of love-life.Never mind—he brought me a present (book of poetry to be precise) and enough drinks that I was able to return to college and break my all my anti-men vows with someone altogether different. Poor chap. He thought I looked so nice.