Just as I think I have been stood up, a lone chap arrives, clad in a lime-green anorak, looking anxious and slighter in stature than I was expecting. The barman points me out, and Home Boy steps up and greets me confidently with a kiss on the cheek. He's a bit on the skinny side, but not bad at all.
Anyone who has tried it knows it can be a unique form of un-fun. You start with a shiny optimism which you later recall with hollow mirth, as you become hardened to the God-awful chore of yet another "date" of jaw-dropping hideousness, later to provide grist to the entertainment mill for convulsed friends.
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