This isn't how I imagined our first meeting to be at all.
Shouldn't we be hugging and saying we are so glad that we are finally seeing each other in the flesh? Instead, Fishy is standing there telling me he won't kiss me because his lip is bleeding, and I'm rummaging through the world's biggest bag trying to find some vaseline for him.
No, not even nearly like I'd envisaged.
He, on the other hand, is exactly like I'd expected. Or should I say that he's like all the photos I'd seen of him. He insisted on emailing me 10 before we met up. From all different angles.
He's nicely dressed. Probably cause he's wearing the same as me. Grey top and jeans. We're like twins. His jumper isn't off the shoulder though, thankfully.
Head through to baggage control. Fishy is talking to me but I'm unable to concentrate. I'm too busy wondering where I get one of the little plastic bags to put my make-up in. Can't ask Fishy, cause then he'll realise my look isn't natural.
Whisper the question to one of the security guards. He directs me to a vending machine back the direction I've come. His voice booms at me that I'm going the wrong way. The hundred or so people in the queue look at me. Fishy pretends not to know who I am.
Get my wee placcie bag, but then do you think I can find the things in my humongous bag that need to be transferred into it? No, I cannot.
Fishy has already gone through the metal detector and is standing waiting patiently for me. I'm getting flustered. The baggage handler tells me I'm going red which of course only serves to make my face flame even more. I start trying to multi-task and take off my belt and boots at the same time. Baggage handler tells me to relax. Then adds that everyone behind is giving me dirty looks.
I'm finally ready to prepare my innocent face and walk through the metal detector when baggage man stops me again.
'I can't let you go though with those earrings on...no knives are allowed on board... or forks either.'
I'm about to protest then I realise he's joking. Think I must have put my bantering gene in the bag alongside my make-up.
Fishy sighs as I finally meet up with him. Think he's questioning whether I really have ever been on a plane before. Or even out the house.
We grab a drink before boarding. Fishy wants to taste my mocha. I surreptitiously wipe the cup after. (Well he did say his lip was bleeding...)
I'm fannying about with my ginormous bag as we get seated on the plane and end up jerking my cup with the result that a bit of liquid jumps out and lands on my jumper. In the nipple region.
I pray he won't notice.
He notices. And remarks on it. I make a crap joke about lactating. Great, now he's going to be thinking about my nipples leaking. I decide to stop talking.
A man sits between us making it hard to chat anyway. He also blocks my view of Fishy's crotch, so I don't have to worry about catching sight of his little problem during the descent.
Short time later we are in Belfast and sitting down for lunch. The waitress comes over to see if we are ready to order. I'm still dithering. Fishy tells her I'm always like this.
It all feels strangely normal, which is weird considering that I'm in a place I've never been, with a guy I've never met. Can't tell if that is just the Fishy effect or whether I just feel I know him through his blog.
I notice his trainers. 'Are they the ones you bought to go on the date with the hairdresser?'
'What did you buy for your date with me?'
'A plane ticket.'
Fed and watered we go in search of a bus tour round Belfast. We want a bit of 'cultcha'. Fishy suggests we link arms. Ah ha! I realise what he's doing. This is one of his tricks to try and steal a kiss. I link anyway. It's pissing down and we're sharing my umbrella so it seems sensible.
We clamber to the top deck of the bus and go to sit in the one remaining seat under the roof canopy. A man stops us and says he's saving that for a friend. Fishy and I talk to each other telepathically and decide to ignore him and sit there anyway. Teamwork!
I can feel Fishy shivering beside me. I, of course, am roasty toasty as I have packed with the Antarctic in mind. I feel sorry for him and give him my cardigan which he places on his lap. I suddenly feel like I'm participating in Help the Aged day. That's until he starts asking the tour guide various questions, then it's like I'm out with the school swot.
An hour and a half and two numb bums later, we head to the Crown, one of Belfast's landmark pubs. Fishy goes to order us some Guinness while I go to the toilet. When I come out he is chatting to an old Irish man propping up the bar, who remarks about the fact he is surprised that Fishy is out with a female.
As we sit down in a cosy booth I ask Fishy whether he could in fact be gay and maybe hasn't realised it.
'I mean you said in your blog that your neighbour thought you were and now he did too.'
'No, I think it's that he thought you were a man at first.'
With these boobs? Unlikely.
The banter continues. He flirts with me. Tells me he likes the way I say 'world.' We take photos of each other. He deletes all the ones I like of me and keeps all the crap. He offers to read my palm (another of his snog ploys!)It's all very comfortable. We even broach subjects that you should never mention on a first date. Things like piles, death and past relationships.
Dinner time and we cross the road and go into the Europa Hotel for dinner. We are shown to a table which is so close to the one next to it that we are virtually sitting on the laps of the couple occupying it. I ask if we can sit elsewhere.
I'm hoping to re-capture the intimate atmosphere we've just had. Plus I was worried that the couple would have been put off their food if Fishy decides to talk about haemorrhoid's again. As we sit down he whispers to me that he wanted to move as well but didn't want to ask.
A lovely meal later and we realise sadly, that it is time to leave. Fishy says he'll pay for dinner (Ploy number 3- he lurves me, he wants to kiss me!)
At the airport, we travel up an escalator, chatting amiably. As we reach the top, Fishy suddenly darts off.
Er...? I just stand there. I'm really unsure what to do. I start panicking. About the blog. What on earth am I going to write? I can't say that he just disappeared and left me. How mortifying. In fact more to the point, what will he write? What have I done wrong?
My phone rings. It's him. 'I'm round the corner. The football was on in that pub and I'm recording it so don't want to know the result.'
I'm still a bit peeved as we wait for our flight to be called. He tries to make amends by challenging me to a thumb war (ploy number 4...) and then by showing me his passport photo. This doesn't help. I look like a serial killer in mine whereas he is the only person I've ever met that actually looks good in their picture. Freak.
In no time at all we are back in Liverpool. Fishy offers to drive me home. I'm his friend again so accept.
His stereo plays Lionel Richie. I'm instantly taken back to being 15 and my older boyfriend playing 'Hello' in a bid to woo me.
We park outside mine and chat about what a great day it has been. Suddenly Fishy tells me to kiss him. I'm a bit surprised. He starts mumbling something about kissing on the cheeks, not the lips. I'm not sure what to do. I have leant over, with the handbrake jammed into my leg and my lips are hovering about the place. I feel embarrassed. So I tell him to 'Just shut up.'
'You told him to shut up?' my best mate Taggart queries. I call her for a de-brief as soon as I get in to the Tower. 'He uses every one of his techniques to try and get a kiss. You have the upper hand and then you go and spoil it by telling him to shut up. Do you realise that when he writes his blog, that 'Shut Up,' will now become 'Will you Shut Up, cause I really want to kiss you.'?'
'I know,' I cringe.
'Did you think you were in a film or something?'
Damn. I really don't understand it. We spent 13 lovely hours together yet the date finished exactly as it began. Awkwardly.
And to read Fishy's version, click here...