Especially since he threw 1984 into conversation with frighteningly-rehearsed ease.
So we headed off to a certain blues-orientated bar, a bar I'm not entirely unfamiliar with, from date #13 to be precise, although fortunately tonight there was no live band, so at least we could hear things. We covered all sorts: A levels, the fact that he lives with his parents rent-free (and hasn't offered financial compensation? ), doing a Monopoly-themed pub crawl and Sheffield.
All he had to do was say "You didn't build that ," and the political narrative would have stayed in the land of magical tax break dressage ponies, vacation spots and whether it's racist to compare the Obamas to monkeys. So very, very much.) Saying "You didn't build that," scares the crap out of people.
That's because it is human nature to externalize failure and internalize success - as in, if something goes well it's because you're awesome, and if it goes poorly it's because somebody (usually the President, an ex, or your parents) screwed you over. After all, if it wasn't for the fables we tell ourselves, society would collapse into a puddle of fetish porn, trans fats and despair. They're right up there with rapping little old ladies and dads using hipster slang on the Awkwaaaard Scale.
When then asked what she taught, Master 15 replied 'children, mostly'.
And so was born the immortal punchline to Del and Raquel's first meeting.
We wandered down to the tube together, and some rather awkwardly long yet desirably noncommittal words later, we went our separate ways.
From the darkness of our outside position, watching the theatre of a man who, once sat cross-legged, foolishly attempted to walk across cobbles with no feeling in his lower extremities, and doing what can only be described as the 'dead leg limp' which would've won him a full Mr #15 was a really nice guy.
And, because this is the Internet of the America, those dumb things haunt you like the time you mixed crushed-up Ritalin into a glass of red wine. ) But, yes, he does hate America and loathes business and wants to reduce our country to a Commietopia. If you think your achievements come exclusively by bootstraps and brilliance, then you're living in a fairyland where you never went to public school, never used a road, and never got a lick of help from anyone.
Note to self, go to the gym, you don't want someone you fancy one day having to cup what feel like a bag of porridge.
Self-realisation aside, and the overwhelmingly interchangeable odours of honky Camembert and sweet Branston pickle wafting over from the table we were sharing, soon enough it was time to call it a night.
So in 52 weeks time, I will have either found my Mr Right, or I'll stay forever Miss Write. Here are the rules to the 52 First Dates challenge...1.
For example, God forbid, the start of a relationship.4. Mr #15 came about through the usual online dating route.