Wine, Whisks & Weird Men Episode 5

Episode Zero

This was my first date in 33 years.
I thought I was rejoining civilisation.

In reality...

I'd just opened a door I didn't fully understand yet..
And stepped into what I would later call the swamp. 🐸

The last time I'd dated, plans were made on landlines, and "swipe" was something you did with a J-cloth.

Then I spent twenty six years in a relationship.

Followed by seven perfectly peaceful years single. Stable. Drama free. Entirely frog free.

So naturally, I went speed dating.

Not because I wanted to.

I went as moral support for a friend who was newly single and itching to get back out there. She was hopeful. Excited. Open to possibilities.

The Room Full of Hope

It was a Monday night in Bristol. A wine bar. Low lighting. Loud optimism.

Twelve tiny tables. Two chairs each. Four minutes per man. A bell rang every time it was time to move on, which made the whole thing feel less like dating and more like a slightly desperate game show.

Four Minutes is A Very Long Time.

I waited patiently for chemistry .

It did not arrive

Not one.

Instead, I found myself conducting a series of increasingly repetitive job interviews.

"Hi, how are you?"
"What do you do?"
"Where do you live?"
"What are you looking for?"

Bell.

Outwardly, I was smiling politely.

Internally,
I was conducting a full psychological assessment.

Each man triggered an entirely different ick.

One smiled without moving his eyes.
One stood far too close, like we were already sharing a mortgage.
One wore so much aftershave I briefly lost the ability to taste wine.

Nothing objectively terrible.

Just... no.

Choosing Someone (Against My Better Judgment)

At the end of the evening we were told to select who we'd like to see again.

I turned to my friend.

"I'm picking nobody."

"You Have to pick someone or the whole evening is a waste"

So I did.

Not because of sparks.
Not because of attraction.

But because he seemed...

the least likely to murder me.

Which, in hindsight, is not the romantic benchmark I had imagined for my grand return to dating.

Enter Pete

His name was Pete.

In the soft lighting he had a faint Rick Astley energy. Auburn hair. Decent grammar. On paper: safe.

Nothing alarming.
Nothing remarkable.

Just...safe.

So when the email arrived asking if we'd like to meet again, I clicked yes.

Completely unaware I had just scheduled my first date in thirty three years...
with a man who would later become known as Angry Pete.

The First Date (In 33 Years)

We agreed to meet for coffee.

Daytime. Costa . Safe.

Just before I left, my phone pinged.

"By the way, I'm getting the bus in so I can have a few drinks."

I paused.

We were meeting for coffee.

A small red flag gently waved somewhere in the distance.

I ignored it..

Costa Coffee: The Calm Before Everything Changed

We sat for an hour.
Coffee. Polite conversation. Easy enough.

No sparks. No fireworks. But perfectly acceptable.

Then he said:
"Shall we go for a walk? Maybe get a drink?"

And because past Sasha had absolutely no survival instincts...

I said yes.

Mojitos & Mortality

We found a cocktail bar.

A nice one, actually. Soft lighting. Mojitos.

Exactly the sort of setting where nothing dramatic should happen.

He told me he was a train driver. Before that, military police.

Interesting, I thought. Solid job. Reliable. Good conversation material.

Then I made the fatal mistake of asking if he enjoyed the job.

Reader.

This unlocked a forty five minute monologue about people that jump in front of trains.

Not reflection.
Not sadness.

Anger.

Anger about delays.
Anger about inconvenience
Grafic descriptions I had not requested.

Over a mojito..

At one point, trying to be compassionate, I gently suggested that perhaps the people involved were probably struggling with their mental health.

This was... not the correct contribution.

His jaw tightened.

Apparently we were not exploring nuance that evening.

We were exploring anger.

So I nodded.
Slightly demoting myself from "empathetic adult" to "hostage with a lime wedge."

At one point I genuinely wondered if I'd accidentally joined a support group.

I nodded again. Maintained eye contact.

Prayed for a fire alarm.

None came.

The Hand Presentation

Eventually we left .

We reached the door.

He turned towards me. Smiled.

And then...

he presents his hand.

Palm open.

Like a Victorian gentleman inviting me to promenade.

There was a pause.

I looked at it.
Looked at him.
Then back at the hand.

It remained.... available.
Then I firmly shoved both my hands into my coat pockets.

Decisively. Theatrically.

And that, ladies and gentleman, is how you create a three minute awkward silence on a Bristol pavement.

The walk that followed was... strained

From that moment, I knew.

I just didn't yet know how to leave without triggering a sequel.

Approaching In A Deeply Unthreatening Manner

We walked towards dinner.

Ahead of us was a wide open concrete area filled with skateboarders, teenagers rolling around, completely minding their own business.

One skateboard slowly drifted in our general direction.

And when I say slowly, I mean...

It was approaching in a deeply unthreatening manner.

No speed.
No menace.
No dramatic soundtrack.

It was essentially gliding to a natural stop.

But just before it did, he dramatically planted his foot on it.

Like he had just intercepted a missile.

Then he turned.

And glared at the teenager with the kind of intensity usually reserved for courtroom verdicts.

The poor kid froze

I froze

And that was the moment the red flag, previously waving gently in the distance, marched over, tapped me on the shoulder and said:

"Hi. Yes. This is the one."

He wasn't protective.

He wasn't chivalrous.

He was angry.

And I don't date angry.

Unfortunately I was already on the date.

Wagamama & The Slow Realisation

We ended up at Wagamama.

He had never eaten food like this before.

Every item required explanation.

"What's ramen?"
"What's Katsu?"
"Is it spicy?"

And somewhere between the noodles and the menu translation I realised something fundamental:

Food, my absolute joy, my career, my language, meant nothing to him.

Which is fine.

People are allowed to like different things.

We are not the same species.

Meanwhile I was no longer enjoying dinner.

I was planning my exit.

Be kind.
Be clear.
Do not accidentally agree to a second date out of politeness.

Ever Paid For Your Own Disappointment?

Then the bill arrived.

Sweet, beautiful closure.

"Could we pay separately please?"

Clear. calm. Adult.

She nodded.

She did not listen.

Moments later I was charged for the entire meal.

The entire meal.

Including the date I was trying to escape.

I stared at the receipt, briefly leaving my body.

Before I could process what was happening, he smiled and said:
"Oh don't worry, I'll get it next time."

Next time.

Reader,
there was not going to be a next time..

But Early Dating Sasha was too polite to create a scene.

So I paid.

For my own dinner.
For his dinner.
And for the privilege of learning a very expensive lesson.

I have never tapped my card with less enthusiasm.

Contactless. Emotionally distant.

The Escape

Outside, I gave him a quick hug, the polite, side angled British kind that communicates absolute emotional neutrality .

"Lovely to meet you,"

And I left.

The moment the car door shut, I exhaled like someone who had narrowly escaped a social hostage situation.

There Will Not Be A Next Time

When I got home, I did something unfamiliar at the time.

I ended it quickly.

A polite message, Clear. Kind. Honest.

It felt revolutionary.

His reply was not kind.
Not calm.
Definitely not brief.

Which confused me slightly, given we had known each other approximately four hours and most of that time had involved noodles and existential train trauma.

But that was the lesson.

You can be polite.
You can be gentle.
And someone may still react badly.

And that doesn't mean you did anything wrong

Looking back, I don't regret Angry Pete.

Somewhere between the trauma monologues and emergency noodle decisions, I learned something:

Dating isn't really about finding the right person immediately.

It's about slowly becoming the version of yourself who knows when something isn't right, and leaves anyway.

Present Day Sasha still believes in love.

She just also believes in finishing her drink....
and going home early.