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Message saying she looks sexy in specs. She'll deffo wear them on our date now. Joanna lives in St Helens but there's no way I'm traipsing over there. She agrees to get the train to Liverpool. Arrange to meet at Lime Street - that way I can disappear in the crowds if she's a hefter. It's a little awkward at first. She won't make eye contact and I pick up an unpleasant odour: Least she's got her glasses on.

We find a booth in Heebie Jeebies and for a painful moment neither of us can think of anything to say. She stares into her Bacardi and lemonade, teasing the ice with a pink straw. Ask about her family. Already mentioned I've got a memory like a sieve. Always get that in early, then I don't have to remember the boring bits like what her dad does. We drink with haste and move on after one. The metallic sound of a bottle smashing to the floor signals trouble ahead. Two minutes later Joanna complains about all the walking.

Claims she whopped two lads single-handedly at school. That was before the arthritis kicked in - I'll batter her. End up in this American diner, where she asks over a starter what I thought of her artwork. If I didn't have coleslaw in my teeth I'd reach over and kiss you. Part-time dance teacher, apparently.

Going on about some moves which allegedly cleared a dancefloor in Malia. Tell her she's in my top three restaurant staff of all time. Bump into our girl again en route to the loo. Three hairs on her chin and a bit of a belly but the banter's good. Exchange another joke before she disappears into the kitchen.

One of her workmates pipes up: I've just been told off for flirting with her actually - I'm on a first date. But she - the colleague, the matchmaker - is waiting with a piece of paper as I leave the toilet. Our waitress is nowhere to be seen so another girl obliges with the bill while others smirk in the shadows. Joanna doesn't offer to go halves. It's back down town for drinks, and she finally gets a round in while I dart for another piss. We find a table. The conversation turns to a psychic she saw last year. Reckons it was dead weird. A few seconds later she turns and whispers solemnly in my ear.

That's a very honest thing to tell someone on a first date," I say. I don't care - as long as you're happy around me! Then, out of the blue, she reaches over to meet my lips. Her eyes avoid mine once more. Tell her I'm relieved she looks like her photos - the compliment isn't returned. She seems distracted and the silence is starting to linger. Turns out this place reminds her of an ex. Actually, coming in here has made me realise - I don't think I'm over him.

It's a shame but…" "No but I've really messed you around. I'll walk you to the train station. I'm sorry I kissed you and I'm sorry I've messed you around. She peels off her spectacles, takes a step back and yells: People turn their heads anticipating a scene. I can't believe she did that.

I don't fancy you - I just think it's cheeky is all. There's things I could say. An hour later I get a text apologising for the way it ended. Reply in kind before turning off my phone. Switch it on next morning to find nine messages. So u gunna go out with her? Log on to Facebook - she's blocked me. I was looking forward to that game of tennis. Names have been changed.

Probably for the best. Though I'm sure she'd be pleased I used her doodle of Lennon. Also, ended up going on two dates with the waitress, Michelle, who was lovely. We're discussing dating in the canteen. Eve, our luscious receptionist, reckons we should all get down to Tesco one Friday after work.

Apparently it's singles' night. People are dismissive - no one's heard of it. Need to do a big shop anyway; got no plans Friday. Head down about 8pm, a splash of Calvin Klein still soaking into my face, neck and crotch. It's all a bit quiet. Probably doesn't liven up 'til the pubs chuck out.

An old couple with an empty trolley undertake me at the onions. What are they doing here? I grunt but the geriatrics are in a world of their own. Potatoes - check; carrots - check; eggs - check. Remember why you're here, la. Scan the pet food aisle for skirt - nothing. A little guy in a big suit surveys dried fruits. He's overdone it with the clobber. Throw him a knowing wink. Our male bonding is suddenly interrupted by a female presence. A pigtailed girl in a knitted cardie is skipping towards us. The child stops dead, looks me up and down, and scurries off at pace, almost colliding with an unseen trolley that swerves into view.

It's her mother - and she's from the Finest range. Tall, dark and, I note, a fan of prunes. A white shirt hangs over black leggings; sunglasses sit like a tiara on her chest-length hair. Stylish without being dressy - definitely the right tone for a night like this. Follow her down cooked meats. I'll strike up a convo about something she picks off the shelves - though our girl doesn't seem to be buying much. Of course she's not buying much - she's here to find a man.

Stay 10 paces behind along cereals, where finally she brakes to collect some Shreddies. Time to move in. I'm right on her tail when the child's lips begin to stir.

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Mum looks over, arms folded across her liberal bust. A pitiful shake of the head accompanies three little words that still echo in my heart. Grab a packet of Pop Tarts, pretending to read the label while she rolls down frozen foods, up wines and spirits, into home goods and out of my life forever.

A handicapped lady hums as she marches my way, an index finger in each ear. Spot little guy in a big suit two aisles down. Appears to be looking at condoms. Scan the checkout staff. One hottie but she's got a queue. Instead join the line for Helen - that's what her badge says when I finally get to the front. Is that why you're here? She eventually returns my card, a lipgloss smirk still etched beneath her studded nose. Wait 'til I see Eve. It's billed as Sex and the City - but without the sex, because this blogger doesn't get any sex. They wrote that bit. The DJ asked if I could provide 12 real-life stories - and each has now been recorded.

Went on my date with Natasha, a dental nurse from Wigan who I've been messaging online. Jump out the shower. Pubes are looking a bit bushy. Attack them with some kitchen scissors. No time to vacuum up the mess afterwards - need to get going. Ticket man asks if I've got anything smaller. I have, but I don't like his tone, so I grunt in the negative. Natasha texts - she's arrived early.

She can sweat for a little while. Spot her leaning against the wall as I amble off the train. She looks just like her photos. A little tubbier around the thighs, perhaps. Nothing a few circuit classes wouldn't fix. Notice thick blobs of mascara on her eyelashes as we kiss cheeks. We take our seats in the dank basement, where psychedelic paintings of John Lennon decorate each wall. She eventually changes the subject by probing me on my worst habits. Can't say sniffing the toilet paper after each wipe.

In the end I go with ringing friends while on the bog. My date says she does that too. Suddenly the fat thighs don't matter so much. My crotch starts itching. Happens every time I trim. Manage to have a good scratch while Natasha checks her phone. This girl's gagging for it. Tell Natasha about some of my online dating disasters. You'd think they'd take the hint, but no. I pretend to need a wee, darting upstairs to the bog to assess my options while staring into a ceramic urinal. Maybe I should confront her - that'd probably be the right thing to do.

Or I could forget she's a racist in the hope of getting a shag. End up doing neither.

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Instead I creep out of the toilets, smiling gingerly at the barmaid while scurrying to the exit. A slate grey sky has replaced the earlier sunshine. Don't have to wait long for a train. Five minutes after taking a seat my phone beeps. I consider my reponse for a few seconds, then start typing. You're fit and that but the coloureds comment put me off.

And the mascara too - sorry. End up having an early night. The wintery weather brought Liverpool to a standstill yesterday, so I challenged my hairdresser to a snowball fight down the beach. This is what happened: Doorbell rings twice in quick succession. She's 15 minutes early.

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Obviously desperate to see me. Emma looks cute in layers. Think she's wearing two pairs of jeans. Imagine myself ripping them off. It's been a while since I undressed a woman - today I might do it twice. Just hope she hasn't doubled up on bras. My date crouches to prepare a snowball but her aim is well off. I'd be tall in Japan. Her footprints expose brown sand beneath the snow like coffee in a cappuccino. Emma attempts to down him with a dropkick but this fella has been built to last.

Snot drips from my nostrils as we slide down a dune. We only split up two months ago. I've always been good at break-ups - even difficult ones like this. Take in her perfume through my runny nostrils as we embrace for the final time. Finally rescheduled the curry date with my hairdresser. Ended up back at hers. Emma holds the door open for me. Waiter asks if we've booked. The man steps back, strokes his goatee and invites me to survey the dining room. Not one spare table. An arctic draught tickles our ankles every time the door opens. She wants to taste some of my garlic naan.

She laughs - thinks I'm joking. My girl heads to the bog. Got a bit of bellyache myself. We're both too stuffed for dessert. Pay the bill without checking the damage. Machine asks if I'd like to leave a gratuity. This girl has a screw loose. Guess that's why I like her. The Irish Sea looks angry as we step on to the firm sand with a carrier bag full of cheap lager.

We find shelter in a dune and chat about books, aliens and how I used to get warts as a boy. Tell me more about his dad - how long have you been separated? Look, it's getting late. Do you want to walk me home?

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Emma sketches a penis on the frozen windscreen of a Ford Fiesta. Her testicles are massive. Toilet seat isn't fitted properly. Have to hold it upright as I piss. She'll have to get that fixed. Brush my teeth with an index finger while weighing myself on her bathroom scales. Emma's folding some washing as I venture into the bedroom. Grab her round the waist and start nibbling her ear cartilage. We collapse on to the bed - so much for not doing anything. She asks me to turn away.

Probably going to surprise me with some sexy lingerie. We cuddle under the sheets. Arch my bum back a few inches so she doesn't notice the little stiffy poking through my boxers. I rise slowly and creep towards the door - going to sort myself out in the bathroom. Only takes a few minutes. Good job she's got laminate. Skulk back into bed. Next thing I know it's morning and I'm being ordered out. Anyway, enjoy the walk of shame. Pull away from our goodbye kiss - her breath stinks. Can sense my girl waving from the window but I don't look up - got to keep her guessing.

Going to suggest a day trip for our third date. A stroll in the countryside or something. Then she'll come back to mine. No Betty Boop pyjamas there. Taking the hairdresser for a curry tonight. Planning on bringing her back to mine after. Check bedside cabinet for condoms. Spot some old fungal cream - best hide that.

Sling my sheets in the washer. Hopefully she'll be doing this for me soon. My trainers look a bit scruffy. Think I'll head to town for some new ones - if I get a shag have a nice evening it's a good investment. Try them on with my date outfit back home. Sheets are just about dry.

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Make the bed in record time - one minute and 32 seconds. Will have to teach Emma my trick of climbing inside the cover and pulling the duvet up. If I was a girl, I'd definitely bang me. Read through all our texts. She messages every day now. Even called me 'hun' yesterday. Phone vibrates in my hand. Probably saying how excited she is.

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Really sorry about this but I'm going to have to cancel - Chris is ill! Seems to be getting bigger. Mildred jumps on my lap. Got to soldier on for her sake. The ellipsis is so noncommittal. A question mark would have given me hope - but those three little dots stink of indifference. Finally send a casual message back. Hope the little fella is okay. Shop probably won't accept them with all the scuffs. Have an early night - all that cleaning's worn me out.

Took my hairdresser for drinks. Weatherman reckons it's going to rain. Text Emma asking her to bring a brolly - don't want my hair getting wet. We're meeting at the train station in town. Leave one earphone in anyway - make me look hip. The huge glass ceiling is covered in bird droppings. Constellations start to emerge - it's like staring at the stars. Hairdresser catwalks into view.

This is going to be some night. Then Emma starts rustling in her bag. Pulls out two shower caps. Find a cheap bar. The convo flows immediately. My date laughs when I ask if she's going on holiday this year. A Chinese guy is selling roses from a bucket.

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Offer to buy her some nuts instead. We talk at length about my cat. Emma is genuinely interested in Mildred's depression. In return I enquire about her little boy, Chris. He's staying at his dad's tonight. It's chucking it down outside. We leg it hand in hand down the road. A bar full of old men stare as we enter their haunt in plastic headwear. Too pissed to care about washing my hands. Emma looks surprised at my hasty return. Rub each palm against my thighs - a fake hand dry to avert suspicion.

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