Liz Jones's Diary: In which I meet a man I actually like - YOU Magazine Fashion Beauty Celebrity Health Life Relationships Horoscopes Food Interiors Travel Sign in Welcome!Log into your account Forgot your password? Password recovery Recover your password Search Sign in Welcome! Log into your account Forgot your password? Get help Password recovery Recover your password A password will be e-mailed to you. YOU Magazine Fashion Beauty Celebrity Health Life Relationships Horoscopes Food Interiors Travel Home Life Liz Jones Liz Jones’ s Diary In which I meet a man I actually like By You Magazine - May 16, 2021 You know how you can be so fed up living where you are, you go on Rightmove and see online a lovely cottage, perfect, with a gorgeous garden stuffed with roses and peonies? Then you view it, and outside the kitchen window is a burnt-out car, several tractors, and the only view one of hundreds of giant bales of hay wrapped in black plastic, and a pile of old tyres? Well, that is not what happened on Date No 2, the blind date with the man from Cambridge I met on Twitter! Abbey Lossing I decided to wear my flared inky Paige jeans, heels and a white T-shirt. Nic came round just as I left for the country house hotel to give her verdict. ‘You look gorgeous!’ she said loyally. She then asked if she could use my loo. I couldn’t very well say no. On the drive, she sent me a photo of my bathroom, with its loo paper folded to a perfect V, and my bed, freshly made with professionally ironed linen, and a Welsh blanket draped artfully on the end. ‘Hahahahahahaha,’ she typed. I’d been rumbled. It wasn’t that I intended to bring a man home after a first date, it was just that I was open to the possibility. It was a beautiful spring day. I was led to my table on the terrace. The waitress brought over some water for the dogs. I was so nervous, I ordered a glass of champagne. I saw him approaching: jeans, loafers, a polo shirt. Hair. Slightly greying at the temples. He looked about 50, but slim and fit. I couldn’t tell whether he fancied me or not. We ordered. I brought out my best antidotes*. About how, in 2016, sent to interview Donald Trump in Scotland, I had taken along an outfit and shoes, in case the Mail wanted to photograph me. My ex volunteered to drive me, and on arrival I gave him the clothes carrier to look after while we walked to the press conference. He got bored holding my clothes, and just left them. Later, I found out the CIA had detonated them, thinking they were a bomb. ‘It was YSL!’ I wailed. ‘That was your one job!’ This new man told me he’s never been married but is on good terms with the mother of his son, who’s at uni. He’s a commercial estate agent. He seems very straightforward, with no sharp edges. He didn’t keep trying to touch my arm; as we all know I don’t like men trying to paw me. He wasn’t angry, or chippy or rude to the waitress. He didn’t try to show off. Two hours flew by. I can never eat when on a date: it’s like swimming. I think if I eat I will drown. He insisted on paying the bill, then walked me and the collies to my car. ‘Hang on,’ he said. And he ran off. I have that effect on men. Then he returned, clutching a squeaky toy for each dog. ‘I’m sorry you drove four hours to meet me for lunch,’ I said, starting the engine, thinking of my perfect, sex-ready cottage back home. ‘I really enjoyed it,’ he said. ‘I saw your face as I approached the table, and it was all sparkling. Why don’t you stop off in Cambridge next time you go down to London?’ With that, I drove off. I am now staring at my phone. No message, but then perhaps he’s still en route. It’s so awful, being judged in such a fundamental way. Just you, him, a table, napkins. We had been getting on so well, texting. He doesn’t take anything too seriously. Now, though, I might never clap eyes on him again. I’ve decided, if he wants to meet for a second time, to say yes. But I’m worried I’m too old, too damaged, too difficult. He sent a nice text a couple of days ago. ‘All I want is a quiet life with a woman in jodhpurs.’ But now that he has met me, does he, though? *Anecdotes. 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