Dating Don’ts, end of series one.

Yes, er, these were the last ones from the first series of Dating Don’ts in 2007. Disorganised, frankly. Numbers are all completely fucking wrong.

Dating Don’ts…the final nine.

Eat an entire packet of wagon wheels over the course of the evening, not ever swallowing anything. Wait until they see the mulched up chocolate, biscuit and cream! Especially if you’re trying to eat a three course meal at the time.

92. Sew a tiny chess set onto your arm before date and offer them a game. If they refuse, pull at it angrily all evening, gritting teeth and swearing under breath.


Photograph your face, blow it up and print out two copies of it, then selotape both copies to ballons. During date, hold them up to chest going “LOOK! I’ve got my face for tits!”


Bring a bucket with you. As soon as the waiter or waitress serves you, tip all the food into the bucket. Take the bucket and tip contents over table going “GET STUCK IN THEN GIRL!”


Wear earrings made from balloons.


Ask her if she’s seen the 1990’s science fiction drama series update of “War of the worlds”. Extoll ther virtues of it’s overtly sickening horror. Then lend her a video of it. That you’ve already brought with you.

97. Say you’d like to rip the staff’s arms off and hang them from strings from the ceiling.

98. Ask her if she likes drinking from a syringe. Ask her if she likes eating salt and pepper, just on their own. Ask her if she likes making love in a skip. Ask her if she likes hanging around tips. Ask her if she likes it when monkeys rip people’s limbs off in zoos. Ask her if she likes crouching over drains and pretending they’re a sort of prison for mice.

99. Suggest you both take in a play featuring scenes composed entirely of historical figures simply throwing a brick through a newsagent window. Over and over again. Winston Churchill, William Shakespeare, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Giant Haystacks. Peewee Herman. Isaac Newton.

100. Eat all and everything with mouth alone.

I say fucking disorganised because I carried on writing these sans numbers well after these ones ended. Here are some more.

Lazy Dating Don’ts (In other words, don’t expect much, i’m tired, alright?

Don’t yell the word “STEAM!” at her through clenched teeth.

Don’t try to swallow a marble to impress her.

Don’t hold a horseshoe up to your eye and eyeball her through it saying “TONIGHT’S YOUR LUCKY NIGHT, SWEETHEART!”

Don’t talk about the Crane brothers out of Frasier, crying as you do so.

Don’t offer her a luncheon voucher.

Don’t tell her she’s got a nice eye for a Terminator.

Don’t cough deliberately until you’re red faced.

Don’t tell her you wouldn’t half like to fuck her knee off.

Don’t actually get under the table and try to lick her knee.

Don’t call her knee a dirty jointed whore.

Don’t wank in a pirate’s hat and drink out of it in her presence.

Don’t do that thing where you pretend you’re a midget by putting your shoes on your knees and walking across the floor.

Don’t try and do a cartwheel across the restaurant.

Don’t cry into her hair.

Don’t cry into her eyelids.

Don’t cry into her cleavage.

Don’t cry into her handbag.

Don’t debate the difference between earth and mud to her.

Don’t tell her about the time you put a sock on your hand and pretended it was a sock puppet with no eyes.

Don’t roll your head on the table and look up at her, head lolling, tongue out, going “UUUUUUURGGH!” and gazing up at her like a hungover zombie.

Don’t sign a nappy with your autograph and then offer it to her, not taking no for an answer. She won’t want it.

Don’t take a poloroid of your face, then show it to her, photographing her reaction, then photographing your own face, then doing it again, telling her you’re documenting it all so you can put it all on your wall later so you can sit in a dark room screaming at all the pictures.

Don’t bark every time she says the word “And”

Don’t lean your chin on a pencil, on the table, spluttering like a horse every time she speaks.

Don’t pretend you’re Steve Martin in Planes, trains and automobiles and she’s John Candy.

Don’t offer her a duel with air rifles.

Don’t hold her hand onto the table and draw a cat on it.

Ladies, remember, these are not really my true character. I don’t have a character.


About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s