Mash Blind Date: 'They've sent me on a date with a bloke, but I'm straight'

TO celebrate Pride Month, which is in June, we sent gay man Neil and straight man Josh on a date together and if Josh complains he’s a bigot.

Neil on Josh

First impression?

Very masc vibes, comfortable in his body, doing a kind of normcore thing which I’m not not into. Skincare four out of ten but he’s tall and that makes up for it.

How was conversation? 

…Okay? On most things? He knows his Girls Aloud, he’s not a Tory, he loves a bit of Peaky Blinders though more for the plot than the aesthetics. But he kept saying he’s straight. Which, you know, not my first, but it was a dampener.

Memorable moments?

He knows how to handle his nasi goreng and chose us an excellent Chilean Sauvignon Blanc to go with it, so points for that. We discovered we’d been to the same Blondie gig back in 2013, which what a coincidence, and he does a fantastic impression of Danny Dyer. But again with the straight thing. I was like ‘okay, can we move on?’

Favourite thing about Josh? 

I’d say just his playful energy? Like this up-for-anything adventurous energy which was so like my ex-but-two it’s untrue?

A capsule description? 

Good looking in an unreconstructed way, funny, blunt, politically engaged. One minor sexuality-related issue he could get over if he wanted to.

Was there a spark? 

Yes. But I’m like an angle-grinder, babe: there’s a shower of sparks wherever I go.

What happened afterwards? 

We split the bill and went our separate ways. What? I’m gay, not a predator.

What would you change about the evening? 

To be on a date with someone who was into dating my gender? Not a lot to ask, is it?

Will you see each other again?  

We swapped phone numbers to be polite. I’d be very surprised if he called. Welcome-surprised, but surprised.

Josh on Neil

First impression?

Neil seems absolutely lovely, charming, funny and handsome. But, given that I’m heterosexual and said so on the form, that’s by the by. Was no woman available? Would none of them date me?

How was conversation? 

Really good. I mean we really got on well and were perfectly matched in a conversational sense. I’m aware I kept ruining it by going back to the central-to-me, boring-to-him subject of my not being gay. Which I’d rather not have but I really wanted it to be established.

Memorable moments?

Neil’s incredibly quick and witty and bitchy. I was laughing the whole time, even when he showed me where I should get hair plugs with his fork. And a jowl tuck, and veneers.

Favourite thing about Neil? 

How easy it was to talk to him. It wasn’t like most dates where conversation is stilted and awkward and keeps stuttering to a halt. With him it really soared. He really seemed interested in who I was.

A capsule description? 

Blonde, ripped, shorter than me, undeniably gay.

Was there a spark? 

Ultimately there wasn’t because of my ‘whole straight thing getting in the way’ to quote Neil. What did he say?

What happened afterwards? 

Nothing, absolutely nothing. He didn’t tell you anything, did he? We said we weren’t going to. Oh alright he gave me a blowjob.

What would you change about the evening? 

If I’m entirely honest nothing. I mean I wouldn’t be going on blind dates if I was doing well with women, would I? Why not change team? What have I got to lose?

Will you see each other again?  

I’ve got his number. Fuck it. I’m texting him.

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Wow your guests by serving the ultimate party food, with Colin the emotionally unstable chef

PARTY food needn’t be uninspired fare like crisps and pizza. Make an effort to really impress your guests, even if they are slavering human dustbins who drink you dry then bitch about you behind your back. I’m talking about you, Fiona, you rancid cow.

Quail’s egg blinis

Ditch predictable smoked salmon and serve a hardboiled quail’s egg on beetroot pureed with cream cheese. It’s these little touches that make a gathering memorable, although not as memorable as the one when I walked in on Nathan saying ‘Colin? The only thing he fucks is the Christmas turkey’ and they all laughed. I’ll be making a special batch of party punch just for him. I’ll get next door’s dog to piss in a bottle.

Sausage rolls with a twist

What could be better than fresh flakey pastry and a quality cut of wild boar minced with redcurrant sauce? Although when Lucy had one she shrugged. Because she’s a fucking philistine who’d be happy with Greggs’ minced anus slurry pumped directly into her stomach with a hose.

A home kebab ‘van’

A small vertical rotisserie is very affordable if you’re fucking rich, so make a kebab cone with minced lamb and spices. Put out pittas, salad and sauces, and soon all your guests will be having an amazing time assembling their own kebabs.

Although Fiona’s got a fucking nerve showing up after that drunken one-night stand we had in 2015 when she gave everyone a ‘hilarious’ blow-by-blow account of my non-performance, as I later discovered. ‘Like trying sit on a dead worm’ was, I believe, one of her choice phrases. While taking no responsibility for it.

Go retro

For a witty saunter down memory lane, serve 80s favourites like Space Raiders, Monster Munch and Twiglets from childhood. Mine was ruined by my ‘friend’ Gareth ruined by claiming I shat myself during a maths test.

Total lie, of course, but kids don’t care. That followed me around for years. I ought to smash your fucking face in Gareth and stick the Monster Munch up your arse.

Oh and a quick note to Jules. If you don’t like Twiglets, or indeed Marmite, it doesn’t make you interesting. It’s not a fascinating character trait like psychic powers. Shut the fuck up about it or PISS OFF.


Incredibly easy to cook – you just need to source some small buns – and very in right now. Yes, you can bet the twats I’ve invited will ignore the proper food and wank on excitedly about what is, literally, a burger… but SMALL! What a fucking mind-blowing concept! Einstein would have difficulty getting his head around it! God I hate people.

Fuck it

While compiling my party menu, I’ve started to question whether my friends truly merit the effort. So here’s the recipe I’ll be working from:

Go to Iceland

Buy a load of crap like chicken doughnuts, nacho cheese bites and 32 cocktails sausages for £2

Watch your guests stuff their gaping maws like pigs at a trough. In fact, why not serve it in a trough with a bucket of leftovers? The wankers will probably think it’s some trendy new dining experience. I’d laugh if humanity wasn’t so fucking depressing.