In which I follow my own advice.

Last night I had the first date I've had in weeks, and the first in more than a year that didn't leave me feeling as if I'd just wasted several hours of my life. It was a coffee date with the chat guy from my last post - following my own advice I'd boldly asked him out for a drink, and fortunately he'd agreed.

As I walked down the street to the cafe at which we were meeting, I felt that rising terror that you get on first dates. Would he be weird, or painfully stilted, or a living testament to the power of flattering lighting and camera angles in profile photos? I'd forgotten how strong that nervous fear can be. You'd think it would get easier as you get older, but it's actually worse. Maybe because the opportunities are fewer and further apart, or because it brings back to mind all of the pain of previous rejections.

I actually took a risky route down a dark alley to the cafe rather than walk along the well-lit street, because I dreaded bumping into him and having to spend those awkward first few seconds in the noise and bustle rather than in a nice cafe. I arrived dead on the agreed time, but didn't see him there. When I bought a coffee my hands were visibly shaking as I reached over to pay.

He arrived about two minutes later. We barreled through those awkward first few seconds, then slowly relaxed and got to chatting. He was a little taller and more wiry than he appeared in his picture, and his hair was cut differently, but he was still good looking. His smile, when he gave it, was small but gorgeous.

To my mind the purpose of a first date is to establish whether the other guy is overtly unsuitable. Is he a swishy, lisping queen, for example, which is a bigger turnoff than him actually being a woman? Are there long, horrible silences in the conversation? Does he have a nasty sense of humour, or display signs of having a cruel heart? Does he simply smell bad?

Fortunately my new friend passed on all these counts, and all the other important ones. He's not a big femme, the conversation flowed smoothly, he seems like a nice guy and I didn't notice any lingering scents of unpleasantness.

After a couple of hours we parted, with the awkward last few seconds you get on a first date. Should we shake hands? Should we kiss? Should one of us suggest something else? The tension of not knowing what to do, wanting to be neither offputtingly familiar nor seemingly aloof, is like a thick syrup infusing the air.

We settled on an agreement to go out again next week. We both seemed genuine. Since then we've traded emails reiterating this.

I think that only time will tell how far this relationship goes. I like him, and I'm attracted to him. At the very least I'd be happy to be his friend.