Ill. That must have been it. I hadn’t been on Tinder in ages, had written it off, but then the lurgy hit. I’d already watched everything on iPlayer, twice, so there was nothing for it. Death by boredom or… Tinder.
No, no, no, no, no….
Turns out the two options aren’t so different.
…no, no, no….
Lunch at 4pm.
… no… no…
Immediately followed by tea because it’s teatime.
The no’s keep coming, X Factor-style.
Over supper, three hours later (I don’t know how I did it), I get a message from Daniel. Daniel? Daniel? It vaguely rings a bell, not least because I’ve only matched with three people in as many hours.
I open the message.
The first thing I notice is that he hasn’t said hello, asked how I am (ill) or what I’m doing (Tinder, cos I’m ill). One gold star to him. (I’ve just watched Notes on a Scandal, though just the once – it’s hardly feel-good.) Secondly, it’s kind of funny, his message. No, actually it is funny. And original. And the punctuation is… oh for crying out loud.
A short while later, I reply, and a few minutes after that I get another message. He must be ill too.
This one is genuinely laugh-out-loud funny. In a collapse on the sofa and not because you’re ill kind-of-a-way. Banter ensues. What does he look like? Oh, nice-looking. The suit in the second picture, I would burn, but other than that… oh and the t-shirt in the fourth photo.
We discuss housework. It turns out we both hate ironing, washing up, cleaning… glossing over the fact that, when we move in together, the house will basically be a pigsty, he’s quite fun. And he even displays a disconcerting level of interest when he follows up the next day with a cleverly re-worded ‘so, what do you do?’
I – and this might be a terrible idea – tell him. Oh don’t worry, I don’t mention the blog, but I’ve decided there’s no point denying I’m a writer. I mean, sooner or later they’re going to find out that a good weekend for me is one spent, well, typing. And since I’m quite up for dating a fellow writer (an in-house editor, just imagine!), it can’t hurt to lay my cards on the table. Can it?