Episode III: A New Post

Previously, on The All Consuming Fire…

My good chum persuaded me to go speed dating, in an effort to make me a bit less miserable. After much nay-saying on my part, I finally agreed because This Man created sperm in a lab and I, along with men the world over, would soon be obsolete and therefire become servants to a world of Womanly Overlords! (Actually, that kind of sounds appealing…)

But, Oh No! After a whole day of building a big bastarding shed, Tim thought all the available speed dating options were too posh for our scummy little selves.

Also, we went onto an online dating site because, well, it was late, my computer was on, and Tim’s flatmate was one, and it was kinda related… It was also blood-chillingly terrifying.

And now, Episode 3.

(The All Consuming Fire is filmed before a live studio audience.)

So, the idea of speed dating lost some of its appeal: it just wouldn’t be that much fun if I went on my own. Anyway, the day after we put the shed up, Tim came round (we had to put the doors on, then it would be finished, thank the Lord).

‘You look a bit pale,’ he said.

I told him about the website and how horrifying it was.

‘Well I spoke to one of my flatmate’s friends about online dating when I got in last night.’

‘Oh yeah? What did she say about it?’

‘She said she hates it when ugly guys talk to her.’

‘Kinda similar to you and that fat girl,’ I said.

‘Yes, let’s keep bringing that up as often as possible, Mr. Haven’t-Had-A-Girlfriend-This-Century. Come on, let’s finish this shed.’

As I fixed one of the doors on, I couldn’t help but think that there’s far too much focus on how people look. I know the whole ‘beauty is on the inside’ thing is a cliché, but it’s a cliché for a reason.

Oh well. We finished the shed, and went over to our mate Mike's flat.

Now, as you know, this was all a couple of years ago. Every sorry word of this is true, so I've changed people's names, just in case they're not comfortable having their identities published (I've not revealed my own name either, because it's kind of fun having a secret identity).

So if any of you think that Tim and Mike are named after characters from Spaced, then you are absolutely correct.

Anyway, back to 2009...

We went over to Mike's flat, and when he answered his door, I couldn’t help but feel that there was something unusual about him… It wasn’t that he was wearing shorts despite it being too cold (this was typical behaviour), nor was it the strange tuft of hair sprouting from his chin that he claimed was the first step in growing a beard.

No, it was something else… He was wearing a stethoscope.

‘What were you doing before we knocked on the door?’ I said.

‘Hm? Oh, this,’ he said, looking at the stethoscope. ‘I need it for my placement.’

Mike is a physiotherapy student.

‘But you’re not on placement at this very second,’ said Tim, who has the eyes of a hawk.

‘Yeah, I was playing with it,’ he added with a grin. We stepped inside.

‘So,’ said Mike. ‘What’s new?’

‘Well, firstly, there’s a man who makes sperm to give ladies babies,’ I said, then laughed because it rhymed.

‘I thought that was how it’s usually done?’

‘Oh Mike,’ I said, my voice grave. ‘He has the power to do it artificially. So if your girlfriend wants any children, make sure you get to it before she finds out about it.’

‘Uh, okay.’

‘And with that in mind, Tim thinks I should make an effort to meet girls and I’ve decided that I agree.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Yeah, so I’m going to try speed dating. Tim was supposed to come too, but he’s chickened out, despite the fact it was his advice.’

Tim then called me a bad word that I won’t repeat. To give you a clue, it sounded like “lick head”.

‘Sounds awesome,’ said Mike. ‘I’m definitely up for going.’

His enthusiasm was a bit odd considering he has a girlfriend. And also because I hadn’t asked him to come yet.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Shame Tim’s already ruined it for us.’

‘You two can still do it!’ Tim yelled. ‘I just said I didn’t want to, it doesn’t affect you at all.’

‘Aye, but it was your idea. You’re being a total coward.’

‘I admit it was my idea, and please believe that I’m sorry for that. But I am not being a coward.’

‘Dude, if it is a bit too posh then there will be women who probably dress in suits for work every day. And some of them may have glasses!’

Is aid this knowing that Tim likes women in suits who wear glasses.

I could see that this got his attention. A pestered him a bit more, and after a while he said: ‘Okay, fine. I’ll do it.’

‘Also, every pilot needs his wingman. It’ll be just like Top Gun’.

Tim is a huge Top Gun fan - he has a tee shirt and seven copies of it on DVD - so I believed this statement would solidify his commitment.

‘As long as I’m Maverick,’ he added.

‘Okay, I’m Iceman,’ I declared. ‘Mike, you can be Goose.’

SPOILER!

‘Is he the one that dies?’

‘Yes.’

END OF SPOILER!

So, with a renewed excitement, we sat down at Mike’s computer and started the search for speed date events.

The earliest one that we could find took place in about four weeks and was for 23-34 year olds.

‘Crap,’ said Mike. ‘I won’t be able to make that, I’m working.’

‘Shit,’ came Tim’s reply, quick as a bullet. ‘Guess it’s off then.’

‘No chance, sunshine,’ I said. ‘We can still go.’

‘We can’t go without Mike!’ Tim spat.

‘Yeah you can,’ said Mike.

‘We can’t leave a man behind!’ argued Tim, determined.

I halted him there and said ‘We’ve had our quota of macho movie talk for one evening. Mike, you wouldn’t mind if we went, would you?’

‘Nope.’

‘Fine,’ Tim said.

And we signed up. There was no confirmation as we had to wait for the organiser to get back to us.

‘How did I get roped into this?’ pondered Tim aloud.

‘By suggesting it?’ I offered.

‘Touché.’

And that was that. We spent the rest of the night watching T.V. and playing with Mike’s stethoscope.

…And then the night of the speed dating event started to get closer. I was getting a bit worried; I hadn’t received any e-mails telling me that it was going ahead. Maybe it was cancelled and they didn’t tell me?

I checked the website, but there was no new information.

And so it came to the day of the event. I still hadn’t received any word one way or the other. So I went onto the company’s website and, in tiny red letters, were the words: event sold out.

Eh?

Hold on a minute. How could that be right? How could it be sold out? The website had only said you could ‘register your interest’; there wasn’t an option to pay for a ticket in advance!

I suppose that must have been the real reason – maybe no-one else was interested.

I was gutted. I’d begun to really look forward to it, in a nervous what-the-hell-am-I-doing kind of way. I’d warmed to the idea, became really focused on it and now it wasn’t going ahead.

I stared at it for a little longer, then thought ‘Screw it! Let’s find another one!’

And I did.