In Defence of the Friend Date

Returning to Oxford this Hilary, Thursday of 5^th week was my real deadline for the term.

I could produce mediocre essays on categorical imperatives and endogenous growth theory twice a week in the dead of night and powered by caffeine pills: a year and a half at Oxford has taught me to believe that this way of living is normal and healthy, rather than a perversion of every aspect of the human condition.

But for your unfortunate writer, Valentine’s Day is a much starker event, an annual reminder of his total lack of success in romance.

Maybe this year would be different. Maybe this year my tactic of looking for love while hanging off the pole in the corner of Babylove would finally pay off.

…tempted?

But the inevitable day got closer and closer, and it was becoming harder and harder to put off the mental preparation required to get through the 14th of February single and with nothing in my pidge (except for my Tesco Clubcard statement, which if anything, was just rubbing salt in the wound).

There seemed to be only one thing for it: a large tub of Ben and Jerry’s (instructions: eat until you feel like there literally can’t be able more room in one human being… then finish the other half of the tub).

But I was saved from Valentine’s evening tears by the most unlikely of sources: a friend.

‘all by myseeeelf…’

A drunken conversation at halfway hall led to my getting a date with a very dear and close companion, with whom non-Platonic love will never, ever be a thing. Waking up the next morning, among the hangover, was a feeling of dread that I was reached a level of sadness which I never reached on Valentine’s Day in my school years, when a simple cry would suffice.

As it turns out, friend-dates are awesome. I got a rose. (I didn’t get her anything. This may explain why I’m single). I got good pizza, and cheap: the beautiful coincidence of Valentine’s Day falling on a Thursday for Fire and Stone.

And I got good conversation, and not once in the conversation did I start weighing up how likely I was to be able to get the person sitting opposite me back to my house.

If anything, Valentine’s Day was a nice break from spending time working out who I can get back to mine. So I was glad for this Valentine’s Day, teaching me that maybe, actually, there’s more to companionship than having a boyfriend or girlfriend.

In the meantime, if I sound like your kind of guy… you’ll find me in Babylove.