Mash Blind Date: 'I thought oysters would be an aphrodisiac, until she almost shit herself'

WILL sales rep Alex fall for book editor Clare, despite a catastrophic bowel detonation caused by a hitherto undiscovered shellfish allergy?  

Alex on Clare

First impression

Absolutely gorgeous. In fact, I’d go so far as to say she was some distance out of my league. That’s why I ordered oysters as a shared starter, to try and seem sexy and confident and as a desperate attempt to increase my chances.

How was the conversation?

Initially flowed really well but about halfway through the main course it started to peter out on her end. Then she got quite red in the face and broke out into a visible sweat, which I assumed was the oysters working their magic. It turned out they were, but not as I’d intended.

Memorable moments?

Clare leaping out of her seat and yelling ‘Get the fuck out of my way’ as she shoved a waiter to the ground in a flat sprint to the toilet will definitely stick in my mind. Also I don’t think I’ll ever forget the malodorous miasma she left behind. It smelt like I imagine death will.

Favourite thing about Clare?

I’d say her perseverance. After that initial bout of what I presume was volcanic-level shitting, she returned wan but smiling to the table.

A capsule description?

Beautiful, intelligent and thoughtful. The ideal woman, if it wasn’t for her weak stomach, loose bowels and previously unknown allergy to shellfish.

Was there a spark?

I thought there was because she seemed so fidgety and flustered, like she had powerful feeling she was afraid to confess. But it transpired that the feelings she was reluctant to discuss were the incipient signs of a nasty bout of food poisoning, so I may have been wrong.

What happened afterwards?

We carried on with the meal, after she’d very sweetly apologised to the waiter while he was taken away on the spinal board, but then within ten minutes she was back in the loo. She texted asking for a lift home but my Alfa Romeo’s got leather seats so I had to decline. I presume she got an Uber as she wouldn’t have managed the bus without a nasty accident and a lifetime ban from TFL.

What would you change about the evening?

The shitting. It really killed the mood.

Will you see each other again?

I would love to shag Clare on a day when she hasn’t got horrific diarrhoea. Although maybe we could squeeze sex in between bouts. The danger would add to the fun.

Clare on Alex

First impression

To be honest he seemed a bit of a wanker. I mean, who orders oysters? I only ate them to be polite, which is ironic given how things turned out.

How was the conversation?

I was already bored of his detailed description about the new carburettor he’s bought when my stomach lurched. Then he asked me a question about myself and very obviously ignored the answer, then the nausea began to rise and I gave up speaking entirely to concentrate on stopping my arse from exploding.

Memorable moments?

Finding out I’m horrifically allergic to oysters in the middle of a busy restaurant is something that I will certainly remember. The mix of surging relief as I reached the loo in time and gut-wrenching abdominal agony is also unlikely to ever leave.

Favourite thing about Alex?

He had a lot of ridiculous, old-fashioned ideas, like believing that oysters make you horny. This also meant he insisted on paying for the meal, which was great as I didn’t want to shell out £50 for the privilege of my anus becoming a sewage outflow.

A capsule description?

The prick refused to drive me home because of his precious car seats. What happened to chivalry, and gentlemen, and looking after a lady suffering prolonged bouts of graphic gastroenteritis?

Was there a spark?

Are you fucking kidding me? I have never been less interested in a shag.

What happened afterwards?

He pissed off in his stupid car and I got a taxi home, stopping twice. Once by an alleyway and once, to my shame, by someone’s front garden.

What would you change about the evening?

I would not have suffered an apocalyptic bout of the shits due to some selfish knobhead believing bivalve molluscs are an aphrodisiac.

Will you see each other again?

No, I imagine it’s an experience we’d both like to put firmly behind us.

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Your astrological week ahead, with Psychic Bob

Aries, March 21st–April 19th

On Wednesday you prove that cancel culture is a total myth when you spend eight hours trying to cancel Sky and get fucking nowhere.

Taurus, April 20th–May 20th

Ah, a tub of loose IKEA allen keys, each one representing an afternoon of malice and anger and choice obscenity. Memory lane.

Gemini, May 21st–June 21st

A friend comes to you with a proposition – smell their finger? Don’t rush in, consider your options.

Cancer, June 22nd–July 22nd

This isn’t your star sign. It’s your ex-boyfriend’s. But since you’ve gone to the trouble, yes he’s cheating on that bitch he left you for. Happy now?

Leo, July 23rd–August 22nd

Your submission for a spherical Tetris block to make players realise the absolute futility of their idiot task is rejected again.

Virgo, August 23rd–September 22nd

You’ve got a great week in store this week, lucky in money and love! All views, thoughts, and opinions expressed in the horoscope belong solely to heavenly bodies, and are not ascribed to the author or their employer, organization, committee or other group or individual. No legal liability is assumed and by reading you have forfeited your right to take remedial action.

Libra, September 23rd–October 22nd

It’s time to align your chakras. All you’ll need is a protractor, a spirit level and a half-bottle of Jameson’s to numb yourself beforehand.

Scorpio, October 23rd–November 22nd

You and your partner thought you’d be OK using the rhythm method but the rhythm you used was Renegade Master by Wildchild and now she’s turbo-pregnant.

Sagittarius, November 22nd–December 21st

Don’t worry about the future. You can cross that rickety, half-collapsed wooden bridge over the terrifying abyss of total failure when you come to it.

Capricorn, December 22nd–January 19th

Sun’s out, guns out, arrested and charged with possession of multiple illegal firearms and denied bail.

Aquarius, January 20th–February 18th

You’ll be turning in your grave after you die. Not because your grandson inherits your house and converts it into a fetish brothel but your ashes are loaded into a centrifuge. And the fetish brothel thing.

Pisces, February 19th–March 20th

Fate will not be kind to you this week when your neighbour Alan Fate throws another bag of dogshit over the garden fence. Fuck you, Alan.