The Accountant and I encountered each other on the slightly more classy than most app: Elite Singles.
The Accountant (or TA to just use a label) lived in Stroud, just a briefish trip down the A40 from where I was living that year.
TAs profile was impressive: A partner in a national practice, having career and non-work fun in equal measures, cars, sailing and travel, yet books and films too.
And a dribble-worthy head and shoulders photo against a drop-dead gorgeous sun-sea-sand backdrop.
I may have actually dribbled.
There were nice, chatty emails.
We moved to the phone and TA was…
A bit of an Accountant.
I looked for the promised fun side of TA but it wasn’t forthcoming in that call.
Or the one after.
But hey, whatevs, let’s give TA a go, I thought.
I upped my game for the date.
I made sure that when I left the house I had done every conceivable thing to make yours truly look more than average.
When I checked myself in the mirror I thought I looked doable.
We met at a pub in the gorgeous Gloucestershire countryside, on a stunning summer evening.
TA was prompt.
And TA was Absolutely Gorgeous.
I may have dribbled some more.
It quickly became apparent that TA was an actual Accountant.
TA was dull, sense of humourless, boring, and, and, and…
And TA had all of the in-person sexual magnetism and charm of a haddock.
A not living haddock.
At the end of the evening TA made a facial lunge for my mouth which I managed to sidestep with a hug and a cheek-offering.
TA had a cold handshake.
I wondered if TA had been an accountant since birth.
I haven’t figured out how TA had such stunning good looks yet such an unfortunate demeanour.
But that’s how it was.
An absolute prize of a date on paper, but in real life?