Love in the Fast Lane

We found a plethora of speed-dating events you can go to. I’d envisaged a room above a pub where you sit at a table and the men circulate every five minutes. That’s old school and nowadays, speed-dating events can be anything from dinner parties (too difficult to escape, according to Josie), to salsa classes (too much touching) and diving holidays (too much flesh on show). We chose wine tasting in the Italian wine café off Albert Square. I love the idea of a wine café; we thought it might be the safe speed-date option and reasoned that at least we’d have the distraction of a good Barolo if the conversation wilted.

‘I can’t imagine you needing to do internet dating,’ I say to Josie. ‘You’re young, attractive, good fun.’

‘It’s not really a last-resort thing like it used to be,’ she explains. ‘I might meet someone when I’m out with mates and if I do, that’s cool, but he might not want to commit or something. So if I want a relationship and not just a one-nighter then I get online and filter out all the time-wasters. You kiss fewer toads.’

It seems rather cold but I can imagine Zoe doing just that, ordering a man to meet her specific specification: six foot, professional, own teeth and happy never to watch golf or fart in her presence. I must tell Patty.

‘We need a code,’ Josie tells me; she goes on to give me some signals for ‘rescue me’, ‘steer clear’ and ‘this one’s perfect for you’.

‘I rarely use the last one,’ she adds optimistically as we get out of the cab.

Once more unto the breach.

‘To start with,’ begins the sommelier, ‘an elegant Gavi from the Piedmont region.’

‘Not bad at all,’ says a voice behind me. ‘I was there last summer; stayed in a delightful casolare – sorry, cottage, just can’t help falling into the lingo. Anyway, had a lovely time exploring the vineyards. Of course it’s all more authentic out there, they don’t export their best, well why would you? And as for the food we heathens call Italian...’

Just as I think that I’m only going to be bored to death, I realise that I might also drown in splash back as he gargles the mouthful of wine, squirts it from cheek to cheek and then expels it vigorously into the spittoon.

I tug my right ear so much that my lobe is six foot long by the end of his exhibition. Josie waits at least ten minutes before coming over and I sigh with relief as I excuse myself.

‘That was our “rescue me” signal,’ I hiss.

‘I know but your face was a picture when he started all that gargoyle stuff,’ she laughs.

OK missy – game on.

We change wines and partners; for the Fiano I have a divorced lawyer who boasts that his ex-wife didn’t stand a chance with the settlement; he’d made her sign a watertight pre-nup.

‘That doesn’t seem very fair,’ I comment.

‘If I’d been fair to all of them, I’d have nothing left,’ he tells me.

‘All of them? How many times have you been married?’ I ask.

‘Er, three...no, four times. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a romantic at heart, just get bored easily. Did I see you come in with the ripe little Aussie over there?’

Forefinger pressed on end of nose ‘steer clear of this one’. This signal also has the fortunate effect of making you look so ridiculous that the guy leaves you alone anyway.

Josie doesn’t seem to be doing any of these signals; I’m sure she’s set me up. There are six wines to taste and six men to accompany them. I attempt to pair the wine with the men but the Gavi wasn’t fresh or fruity and the Fiano was a little too acidic for my taste.

The Pinot Grigio, however, does seem very easy going if not a little young.

‘So which wines do you like?’ I ask him.

‘To be honest – anything on special offer.’ We both laugh. ‘I won’t pretend to know anything about it.’

‘That’s refreshing, there are a few know-it-alls in the room tonight.’

‘Amongst the women too,’ he tells me. ‘I’m not cultured enough for most of them.’

Across the room, Josie is scratching the top of her head like a primate; our ‘perfect for you’ signal. Damn, why now when I’m finally having a decent conversation?

I ignore her but she continues, adding a glare and a sideways nod at the guy she’s with. Pinot Grigio notices it.

‘Is that one of your little signals?’ He smiles when I look surprised.

‘I noticed the ear tugging and nose pointing, not that subtle,’ he explains. ‘So what does the gorilla impression mean?’

‘That the guy she’s with might be perfect for me,’ I confess.

He laughs out loud.

‘She’s having you on,’ he says, ‘unless you like BO.’

I look at her again and she’s still at it, signalling me to come over.

‘Seriously,’ continues Pinot Grigio, ‘I stood next to him a while ago, it’s not easy to smell the wine around him.’

‘I’ll get her,’ I say.

Just as the sommelier is about to suggest we change partners and I see Josie trying to make her excuses, I start asking questions to delay the move around.

‘Could we just try this one again?’ I ask.

‘Yes, it’s more complex than I’ve had before. Maybe we could talk about it for a bit longer with our current partners,’ follows Pinot.

‘Maybe have another glass together?’ I add.

The sommelier agrees and we stick with our partners for one more. Pinot and I start scratching our heads, tugging our earlobes and pointing at our noses while loudly discussing the wine.

‘Huge aroma,’ he says, ‘overpowering at times.’

‘Could be served with something quite bold and brassy, like an Aussie barbecue,’ I suggest.

Eventually Josie escapes and confronts the giggling duo that we’ve become.

‘Very funny,’ she says.

‘We thought so,’ answers Pinot. ‘I’m Matt by the way.’

And so it passed that my speed-dating session ended successfully – for Josie anyway.