Last time, I talked about my list of desirable qualities and attributes for the men I date. Now whilst my list is relatively small compared to most of my girls I still find it near impossible to find one that is aptly and suitably qualified. I have been looking for quite a while and have not yet found one who fits the bill. On paper, The Trader seemed to be perfect…

The Trader was one of my Tinder finds. His profile read ‘Generic public schoolboy, 6’ 3’’ rugby playing Cambridge graduate working as a trader’. Some potential there I thought and despite the fact he looked a bit like Sue Perkins from The Great British Bake Off in his photographs I thought he was worth a try and took a gamble on a right swipe…

After a brief exchange of a few flirty messages and voice notes we arranged to meet for dinner. We went for 28-50 on Maddox Street; the place itself is a hidden gem. It’s got this intimate, cosy, warm vibe going on. The restaurant calls itself a ‘wine workshop’ and it has a choice of over 50 wines and champagnes and it had a special ‘truffle menu’. I’m honestly obsessed with truffle anything, the smell itself is amazing and it makes food taste like it has been made by the angels (opposed to the grumpy, sweary, sweaty chefs and their illegal immigrants helpers that you find in most of the kitchens in London ). I recon the Italian farmers should do away with using pigs to snuffle them out and just employ me instead. Although it is possible I’d eat more of the truffles than the pigs so it might be counterproductive and more cost effective to keep the pigs as the snufflers.

He met me on time, dressed in a tailored dark blue suit, kissed me on the cheek, held the door open and took my jacket. Oh, I was on to a winner here. I was already smitten.

We got on really well on the date itself; he was down to earth, funny, intelligent, charming, he joked about the Sue Perkins resemblance I’d picked up on. He even swore as much as me, which is fairly rare. The only over person to use the F and C words to the same extent I do is my sister, when we’re together you could be mistaken for it being a conversation between two sailors.

The accent was spot on, the marriage material one, posh with the London twang coming through. He explained that he was a scholarship boy at a public school and his normal East London accent had been refined over time. Although, I think he thought I was slightly disturbed when I asked him to read the slowly menu and deliberately whilst I closed my eyes, then sighed loudly at the end. I wondered to myself if this date went well and we progressed to relationship stage if I could get away with making him read me bedside stories or is that just fucked up on a whole new level?

The truffle menu was unreal and I proceeded to eat four courses, he did look a tad horrified about this as presumably other girls he had taken on dates had picked at salads. My ability to eat tends to shock most men and at times it even shocks myself. How I maintain my current weight and dress size I will never know because I eat as much as a very large man; I know this because my ex was 6’ 5’’ and 21 stone and I ate similar portions to him. On a recent bad hangover Sunday I consumed two double sausage and egg mcMuffins with hash browns for breakfast, a large dominos stuffed crust pizza with dough ball and chicken strip sides. Then tucked into a bag of Haribos, skittles and a giant bar of galaxy whilst I did a Netflix marathon. Then just to finish my night off had a couple of slices of toast… all in all about 8000kcal or about 5 days’ worth of food. Not that I’m complaining about my metabolism. I love food and would be buggered and clinically obese if I was built like a normal human and I suppose being a major stress head has to have some benefits attached.

But after 4 courses of the said truffle menu (oink) and 2 bottles of wine between us, I was ready to bear The Trader’s children. I was ready to have tiny, little Sue Perkins.

It he hadn’t nailed the first date already, he ordered me a taxi, (He splashed out the extra tenner for an Uber Lux as he obviously recognised I’m not the type of girl who can be sitting in back of a Yaris)* put me in it with another kiss on the cheek and text me half an hour later to say he’d had a lovely evening and check I’d got home ok. I honestly though that this guy had just popped out of a Disney film and  I wondered whether to rank him above or below Ryan Gosling on the guys’ list, just underneath Channing Tatum and Chuck Bass.

I couldn’t have written a better first date if I’d tried. I got home and raved to my housemates that I’d met the most perfect man, that I was in love and would be sadly have to move out soon as me and The Trader would certainly would be getting married in the very near future.

Over the next couple of days I waited for him to get in touch. Nothing. A week went by. Nothing. Two weeks. Nothing… I was mortified about it. How had I judged it so wrong? Do I look completely different in my pictures than I do in reality? Did he think I was a foul, greedy, truffle eating pig? Whatever the reason, the boy had not sent me a single message and I was too mortifieod by the whole ordeal to text first. Then out the blue, nearly three weeks later I got a text…

‘FFS what did I do wrong? Was our date really that shit?’…

*Uber is a London Taxi Company, your standard ones are little Toyota Yaris’,If you upgrade to a Lux you get a Mercedes, free bottle of water and the driver doesn’t huff and puff when you ask can you bluetooth your Spotify. These things all matter.