Not much to show for February was there? Sorry about the lack of entries last month, the paucity of items was not due to complacency on my part, but because I have been writing for my living, rather than just for fun. As I sit in my study and watch the late afternoon sun setting on the last day of February I can reflect on the fact that this year is already promising to be more than a little exciting. I have written my story for magazine articles twice in the past few weeks. Sounds easy, but trying to tell the tale of how I met Charlie, our subsequent marriage, how he died and how I survived his loss in 1700 words or less was more exacting and more emotionally draining than I could have ever imagined. The other problem was that I had to make the same story appeal to two entirely different target audiences. The first magazine is a new Condé Nast publication, and so the writing had to be slick and sophisticated - mourning in Armani, (not that I possess any Armani, but you get the picture.). The second magazine demanded slightly more accessibility for an older target audience - mourning in a Dr. Scholl sandal and how comfort and practicality really do matter (once again, I don't possess any of the good doctor's footwear, but I'm sure I will one day.). Once that was over, I had to prepare a diary entry for Radio Four, and whilst all that was going on I got news that the dating agency had found me a perfect match...

It was with a mixture of fear and trepidation that I opened the envelope. It was a bit like Oscar night, only with more sincerity and less Botox, and I think it might have been expecting a little much to have been clutching a prize in both hands at the end of the night...

Can you feel the tension? Can you imagine my delight, when, after a seven year fallow period, my eyes rested upon the name of my chosen match? I like names, my friends like names and I knew they would be keen to know just what my potential date was called. Was it Rhett? Was is Maximus? Something strong and commanding; the name of a five-star general? Oh yes, it was a name worthy of a true leader of men; and he would indeed have five stars displayed proudly on his chest, and he would look up at the massed ranks before him, his proud chin jutting forward, and call out to his subordinates, 'Unleash the quarterpounder.'

Gary, oh Gary, how you must have waited, alone and paley loitering, the sedge has withered from the lake and no birds sing.Keats doesn't write them like that any more, and he certainly doesn't write them for knights called Gary.

But I had to get past the name, I had to move forward and see past it, and into the very soul of the man. He was charismatic, it said so on the form; he was very attractive, it said so on the form, he was fit and dynamic and all the things I had been waiting for. So what if he had a crap name, we could work on that, I could adopt a lisp and turn him into Gareth.

And then he rang, and I didn't judge him on his accent or his two grade three CSEs, because people had told me that I had to keep an open mind, so we talked and talked and agreed to meet. And I wanted to like him, and I tried not to judge him, because my friends had told me that I had to keep an open mind, but my friends didn't have to meet him, and my friends wouldn't be walking beside me as we strolled wordlessly through the cold night air and into the crowded wine bar.

I'm not saying I was disappointed when I met him, but had I been given the benefit of a cyanide capsule I would have bitten down hard. I think my exact words on leaving the safety of my car and seeing him for the first time were, 'Oh, fuck.' I wanted to turn on my heels and run, but I made myself go though with it because my friends were rooting for me, and were all pinning their hopes on the broad, muscular shoulders (it said so on the form) of a man called Gary.

He was most certainly not the 'very attractive' man I'd been expecting; he was about as charismatic as tofu, and as I was about to discover, two hours is a very long time in the company of a man with whom you share nothing in common, except the fact that you're both wearing a necklace. I can't hide how I'm feeling. I'm rubbish at deception, and I knew Gary could see in my eyes and hear in my voice that I had no desire to become romantically involved with him. It has to be said that he was perfectly pleasant and kindly paid for the meal, but whoever matched us up was clearly in need of a bit of re-training, or at the very least, an eye test. The fact that the dating agency asked for a duplicate application form in Braille might have been a clue as to their unsuitability as professional matchmakers, and I hope they are laughing all the way to the bank.

I found out that Gary had to tweak his profile to amend the incorrect spelling of Dartmore (sic), and I think that in doing so he was more than a little economical with the truth. I could have changed my profile to include the description 'Devastatingly attractive, Jordanesque chest, better at sums than Carol Vorderman', but it wouldn't have been true.

Keats summed it up very well in his poem about dating agencies,

La Belle Dame Sans Merci (apologies to Keats for messing with his words.)

'I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful-a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

At least that's what her profile said,
But hair was shorter on her head,
Her eyes were wild, that's true enough,
But I didn't get that faery stuff,

All I wanted was a dainty diva,
The agency said, take her or leave her,
So I paid for the meal, and said I'd call,
But I'm not inclined to do much at all,

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

So how do you know? How do you get to meet a man who has the potential to become a regular date? Well, I'm clearly not an expert on dating, I have no experience in matchmaking, but I do like making money, and so I think I might have found myself a new career opportunity.Kate's Dates - just like the ones you find in the back of your granny's cupboard. It says 'Eat Me' on the box in huge letters, they've lain neglected for years, nobody wants to touch them, but you can offer them up to strangers who you'll never see again, and they'll be too polite to refuse.

Enjoy.


© Kate Boydell 2004. All rights reserved. e-mail: [email protected]. Close window.