Mainly because the emphasis was on getting to know each other – there was no expectation that we’d be going home together at the end of the night (as Mairead had already said “it’s certainly not a shag-fest”).
I found out far more about both my dates than you normally do when the wine’s flowing and you’re busy trying to work out if the other person’s going to make a move or not.
Both evenings ended at a civilised hour with a peck on the cheek – after which, Jo calls me with feedback – which is excruciating.
I feel like I’m in the dating Olympics, and I’m going to get a row of zeroes from a panel of judges who will criticise my terrible small talk and the fact that I went to the toilet six times in three hours (tiny bladder).
Plus, things seem to move so fast that every potential relationship is over before I’ve blinked.
And, as I’m always complaining, everything has become so cloaked in ambiguity, that there are 67 different levels of ‘not being in a relationship’ you have to go through before you’re allowed to call someone your significant other.
And – here’s the crunch – it costs between £10,000 and £50,000 to join.