MATCH

Met. A. Total. Catfish. Help!

Imagine this. It’s British summertime in 2016. We’d just voted to leave the EU and the pound had absolutely plummeted to depths not seen since the 70s. Yet the thing that was even more surprising than any of this was that I was going on a date!

Disclaimer. I was dating prolifically from around 2012 but it was a weird time to be dating. Opinions were polarised, almost everyone felt skint and open relationships were gaining popularity faster than Boris Johnson swinging from his testicles on a zip line in Victoria Park.

The landing zone for finding love was pretty narrow.

I’d been on Tinder for a few weeks… Ok fine, a few months… a couple of years, whatever. The pool of single blokes was pretty dry. And when I say dry I mean barren. I’d swiped left so many times that my left thumb had repetitive strain injury.

At the time, I was a sprightly 26-year-old who had the world at his feet. I was successful for my age, had a job that paid commission (so occasionally I felt like a baller) and … I’d never had a boyfriend and I was still living with my mum. In my defence, I was saving for a deposit for a house so, judge me if you must.

2016 me. Less wrinkles, more hair. I miss it.

But, join me in my surprise when I happened to come across a profile that just about stopped my thumb going left. I slowly moved the profile back to the centre and gazed at my phone. Was I going to tap it and see more? Of course I was, I was desperately looking for the love of my life! Or maybe someone to fool around with a bit if we didn’t hit it off (shut up, I was twenty-six, stupid and lacking strategic focus)!

Anyway, there he was. Swipe, swipe, swipe.

First photo (his main Tinder pic) — him smiling at the camera. Nice.

Second photo — him with a group of lads. Couldn’t even tell which one he was. Not ideal, let’s continue.

Third photo — him with a dog. We’ll forgive him the basic AF dog-baiting. It was kind of cute.

Reads profile: ‘I’m James’ (note — I can’t remember his real name, so this is my best guess). ‘I love spending time with my dog #dogdaddy and my family.’

Ok, nice. Family man (we’ll let him off the dog dad line, too).

Continues reading: ‘My Sundays are usually spent hiking followed by a Sunday roast.’

At this point I should have swiped left. You see, I have a thing about Sunday roasts. Not the roast itself — a good one is genuinely banging, do try it — but the men who list it. My theory: ain’t no one eating a full roast after hiking ten miles in the middle of British summer, and I include the start of autumn in that too. So for at least a quarter of the year, you’re not having a roast. What are you doing with your Sunday then? Maybe I was just salty because every bloke seemed to have the exact same profile — a parade of walking androids with a fetish for roast beef… (or chicken, or lamb, whatever’s your poison).

Yet he had this blonde curly hair, the windswept surfer look, a nice chest and arms, so who was I to judge his eating habits? I swiped right, not expecting to hear from him anyway.

Then, both our profiles came up with that little green motif thingy. Success! Not only that, a message almost instantly from him! Maybe I was being a judgemental bastard about the roast dinners all along.

Anyway, the messaging memories are vague but from what I can remember, he was around my age, he lived about 30 miles away from where I was based and he enjoyed being outdoors (and presumably carrying a pre-made Sunday roast on his hike up Kinder Scout). Long story short, after just a few days we decided it was better to just meet and do this in person. That was on the Friday and the date was organised for the Sunday.

Sunday arrives pretty quickly. We’d decided to meet at a local bar in Manchester for 4pm. I went through my usual ritual. Tried on four different things and chose the first option (which I already knew I was going to wear from the start). Three sprays of my third favourite cologne (it’s a first date, the expensive stuff was signposted for date three). Ask my mum if I looked OK (which she would always tell me I looked handsome — she’s always good for a pick me up). Then out the door.

I arrived unfashionably early to the bar. Before I went in, I text him saying I’d parked up at Boddington’s Car Park and that there were loads of spaces, should he struggle. I was familiar with the bar so I took a seat that I liked by the window, grabbed a soft drink and waited. A few minutes later, a text.

‘Thanks, found parking somewhere else. I’m here. Are you the one sat by the window?’

That was me alright. I looked around and I couldn’t see him. I text him back to confirm it was me. As I looked I could see someone looking at his phone and walking over. But who the hell was that?

Turns out, I’d been semi-catfished. My curly haired blonde date (with the nice arms and chest) was more like a balding man in his late 30s. Now, for anyone who has read my other piece “Kiss me and I might drop dead”, you’ll know I have a habit of being too polite in situations I really want to escape from. This was no exception.

“Hi, I’m James.” I made a mental note to cross reference that when this ‘date’ was over.

Regardless, I offered to get him a drink and carried on like nothing was the matter. I went to the bar feeling completely aggrieved and considered my options. I very easily talked myself into staying and giving him a chance. Sure, I thought I was going on a date with James Norton and ended up with James May, but I couldn’t be too picky.

I came back from the bar and we chatted for 45 minutes. We talked shop, I’d told him I had a job interview the next day for another company and that it was a massive step up for me. He told me what he did for a living and gave a disclaimer that he was on-call today and might have to take a call or respond to an urgent message. He pulled out his work phone and placed it on the table.

What I was hoping for from him was an explanation for the pictures that were clearly taken in 2008, but what I actually got was a conversation as stale as the peanuts on the table. Compatibility — 3/10. He seemed pleasant enough, but so is beige paint.

He suggested we go for dinner at a fancy new restaurant that had just opened around the corner. Again, I should have made my excuses, but two things. I’d already confirmed to him earlier in the week that I didn’t have any plans that evening. And I actually really wanted to go to this place, so why the hell not?

He went to the bathroom. I automatically got my phone out. Couple of WhatsApp messages and then I did my usual app check: Facebook, Instagram, BBC News, Sky News, Grindr … shit. As soon as I’d tapped it I regretted it. Honestly, it was natural reflex back in those days. I didn’t want him to think I’d been on Grindr during our ‘date’ so I quickly went to flick it off, but before I could, I noticed a familiar picture. It was his. The same one he had as his main photo on Tinder. My instant reaction was bemusement that he was using that one too, but my second was that I should block him. I wish I could say it was because I knew this was never going to turn into another meeting but, if I’m being totally honest, it was so I could save face.

Blocked. Ok. Let’s carry on, I thought. Maybe some nice food and atmosphere would help us along.

We got to the restaurant and were told that a table would be a 45 minute wait so we grabbed a drink (non-alcoholic for me, I was driving) and sat down to wait. James announced he needed the bathroom. Bit weird. He’d literally gone not even five minutes earlier. My instant thought (and secret hope) was that we’d have to cut this date short because he had an upset stomach or something.

Out came my phone again. Facebook, Instagram, BBC News, Sky News… and yes you guessed it; Grindr. For god’s sake! Hear me out though. It was a genuine accident again, promise. But this time I may or may not have stayed on longer than twenty seconds. I may or may not have received a ‘Hello, how are you?’ message from someone who was definitely my type and I may or may not have responded saying, ‘Good thanks, how’re you?’

I know, I know. Grim behaviour on my part. You can’t be on a first date and messaging someone on a dating app. Slap on the wrist for me but I think with what came next, I was adequately punished.

James came out of the bathroom and I knew immediately something was wrong. He was charging over like a bull that had seen a red flag.

“Everything ok?” I asked.

He didn’t respond straight away. A few seconds passed.

“Have you been on Grindr?”

I actually thought he was going to explode with rage. I’ll never forget it. He was looking dead ahead and his face was turning redder by the second.

“Yeah I have, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“That guy you were messaging. He’s my best mate. He rang me just now and told me you’d been messaging.”

Suspicious. All this supposedly happened in the space of about three minutes. And the audacity? ‘The guy you were messaging?!’ I only asked how he was and confirmed I was fine. I considered calling bullshit, but James had his hand on his drink, which I was entirely convinced would be over my head in the next few seconds.

“How could you?” James added, rather dramatically.

“Listen, I’m sorry. Not cool from me but we only met like 45 minutes ago—” and before I could go into an explanation about why I was aggrieved about the Tinder pictures, he got there first.

He raised his glass and I shut my eyes expecting the inevitable… but instead: “I THOUGHT WE HAD SOMETHING!” I kid you not, he bellowed. The restaurant was full and I was mortified. He placed his glass down so hard on the table that I was sure it had cracked. Then, he grabbed his jacket and stormed out. That was the last I saw of him. It was not the last I heard of him.

Now, most sensible people would pay up the bill and leave with their tails between their legs. Not me. Already embarrassed and so red in the face it would make a healthy lobster jealous, I decided to stay and finish my drink. I wasn’t giving these nosy diners the satisfaction of letting them think I was going after him. A very uncomfortable 15 minutes ensued.

As I was getting ready to leave I text my sister asking if she was free to talk. She rang me straight away.

After I reassured her that grandad wasn’t dead, I went into my explanation of what happened.

“Bit odd that his mate did that…” she said.

“To be honest, it could be that but I’m not entirely convinced he didn’t create a profile on his work phone and message me from that.”

When I hung up, I had three WhatsApps from James.

‘I think I overreacted.’

‘Are you still at the restaurant?’

‘Can I ring you?’

No shit Sherlock. Of course you overreacted. But, I was also not completely innocent either, so I called him.

He told me he felt terrible and asked if I still wanted to take the reservation at the restaurant so we could iron things out.

Absolutely not! I’d be giving that place a wide berth for at least 12 months so I could be 100% sure no one would recognise me.

When I told him we should just leave it, he said, “I’m at Boddington’s Car Park. I’m by your car. White Mercedes? E220, right?”

Red flag, red flag, red flag! Abort! Abort!

I told him, pretty sternly, that it was weird he’d gone out of his way to the car park where my car was stationed and taken the time to look around and find the one he thought was mine (that car park was huge)!

He agreed and told me he ‘just wanted to see me to make amends’. I told him we could, but not tonight. A lot had happened and we should just head back home and reconvene at a later date. Before I hung up, I did challenge him about the Grindr profile.

“Was that an account from your work phone?” I asked.

He confirmed it was him. Here’s the thing that broke my brain: the Tinder photos were real — vintage James, circa 2008 — but the Grindr photo was a total stranger. So he’d catfished me with his own past and someone else’s face, on two apps, in one evening. You’ve got to admire his range.

Deciding it was better to give it another half an hour to absolutely make sure he wasn’t standing by my car like a lost dog, I went to grab a coffee. About 20 minutes later he text me to tell me he was on his way home. I text back and told him to drive safe, knowing full well it was the last time I’d ever speak to him.

This should have been the end of it.

What would a sensible person do? Probably give it a few hours and text him to say it wasn’t going to work out. Nope. Not me.

When I finally sat down in the car, my naive 26-year-old brain thought the easiest way out of this would be to block him on everything and leave it at that.

Contacts list — Blocked.

WhatsApp — Blocked.

Facebook — Blocked.

Instagram — Blocked.

Grindr — Ah. Already blocked.

I headed back home and tried to forget the whole thing.

About an hour later, at home, I was doing my usual circuit of the apps and strayed onto Tinder. A message… from James. How the hell did I forget to block him on the one place we’d first made contact?!

The message: ‘You fucking prick. How dare you block me! You’re a total arsehole and a liar! I thought we had a connection! All of the messages prove it! I hope you’re happy, I’ve crashed into a lamppost because of you.’

Under any normal circumstances, I’d have been concerned, but the sensible part of me knew this was a lie. Who the hell is crashing their car and then going straight onto Tinder? No one. Blocked.

I genuinely thought that was the last and worst of it. Until about an hour later when I got a message on my phone. From an email address.

‘Just so you know, my sister works for (he named the company I was interviewing at the next day). She’s a director and I’ve told her what a vile, lying human being you are. I’ve told her to cancel your interview.’

I mean, props to him. God loves a trier. But, still. Blocked.

By this point I’d resigned myself to the fact that this is what I get for putting ‘up for a laugh’ in my bio.

I’m comfortable enough to say that, the next day when I arrived for my interview, I was half expecting to be turfed out by security as soon as I arrived, with his sister looking through a pane of glass and a smug look on her face. That never happened. I got the job! (Which I later turned down for a counter-offer.)

I did learn some valuable life lessons though.

• Photo quality is important to check.

• Don’t trust a man who eats a roast in the summer.

• Grindr is the root of all evil.

I’m happily committed now. He eats roast dinners in the summer, so maybe I’m wrong on point two.