As second dates go, it was certainly memorable.
Last month, a romantic walk in the Lake District turned into a five-hour rescue mission for an unnamed couple after the man slipped 200 ft down a ledge as dangerous weather moved in.
Despite their awkward start, the pair haven’t ruled out a third romantic meeting. But they are far from unusual in having ‘a date from hell’.
Here, Mail readers share with HELEN CARROLL tales that Cupid would really rather forget…
THE EVENING ENDED WITH ME IMPALED ON A FENCE
Layla Light, 41, a healthcare assistant and married mother of one from Hastings, East Sussex, says:
I had been chatting online for several months to a guy before we finally arranged to meet in person, a daytime drink at a lovely pub overlooking the Thames in Central London. In the early evening we decided to go for a walk and wandered into a nearby park area where we sat chatting on a bench, watching the sun go down.
When we decided it was time to go, we discovered that the gates had been locked, leaving us with no choice but to climb over the iron railings. My date went first and, although it was quite a climb, managed to get over to the other side.
However, as I clambered over the top, an iron spike, a deterrent to people getting into the park, went through the soft sole of my boot and into the ball of my left foot, leaving me hanging, head down, and impaled.
My screams attracted passers-by who helped my date to free me from the fence and brought me a cold bottle of water as I sat on the pavement, shaking.
Incredibly, no doubt helped by the pain-relieving effects of the wine we had drunk, and with my arm around my date’s shoulders, I made it home to North London on the Tube.
However, the following morning I woke in agony and a friend drove me to casualty where my foot was bandaged and I was given crutches, with strict instructions not to put weight on it for three weeks.
While we did attempt a third and fourth date, the relationship didn’t last. The foot injury did, though. Fourteen years on, it still aches!
WE MET AND HE FEIGNED A HEART ATTACK
Amanda Steel, 41, a copywriter from Manchester
Amanda Steel, 41, a copywriter from Manchester, says:
Arriving at the bar, I was disappointed to discover that my date was a bit weedy and nerdy-looking. However, with my dad’s advice to ‘be less fussy’ ringing in my ears, I decided to give him a chance.
After all, he had told me he was a fellow writer, so we seemed to have something in common.
Half an hour into our date, and onto our second glass of red wine, he asked if I’d be interested in hearing an extract from a ‘book’, still in manuscript form, he had written about soldiers in battle.
He then spent half an hour reading every word of the last two chapters, adopting different voices for the various characters, while I tried to keep smiling, encouragingly.
At the end, the central character was shot and, suddenly, my date stood up from our table and, clutching his chest, stumbled about making death-throe noises and then collapsed to the floor.
For five full minutes I sat making positive remarks about his writing while he lay prostrate, pretending to be dead. People at other tables were trying not to stare.
It crossed my mind that he may have had a heart attack but I could see his chest moving as he breathed, and his eyes were flickering.
So I grabbed my coat and bag and left. Even then he didn’t stir. That was eight years ago and we never contacted one another again. For all I know, he could still be there.
I WAS INVITED TO HIS CAT’S FUNERAL
Nicki MacDonald, 35, an actress from Glasgow, says:
After flirting with a handsome guy in a bar one evening, we arranged to meet for a walk in a park the following day.
He seemed preoccupied, constantly texting and not paying attention to what I was saying. Then his phone rang.
After he had rudely sloped off to take the call, I said: ‘You’re clearly busy. Shall we do this another time?’
And he said: ‘Please, no, my cat has died and I’ve arranged to meet my sister here so that we can bury him together. I really want you to attend.’
It sounded so ridiculous, I was convinced my friends must have set me up and I started smiling. He said: ‘Why are you laughing? It’s so disrespectful. My cat just died!’
When I realised he wasn’t joking I said: ‘This is too weird for me. Is it even legal to bury a cat in the park? I’m off.’
He’d added me as a friend on Facebook that first night and I saw that his cat of 14 years had actually died. I never arranged a second date.
MY MESSY EATING MADE HIM SCARPER
Claudia Connell, 53, a writer, from Brighton, East Sussex, says:
My first date with Dan, a wealthy City trader, had gone so well that, for our second, he offered to take me to an upmarket, Michelin- starred restaurant.
I wore my highest heels and my ‘lucky’ dress. The only hitch was that I had a huge mouth ulcer that made eating and drinking painful — and, as he was paying, I didn’t want to hold back.
So, on the way to the restaurant, I stopped off at a pharmacy and bought a bottle of solution that acted as a liquid anaesthetic.
Had I bothered to read the instructions I would have seen that I was meant to dab the affected area lightly. Instead, I gargled it like mouthwash.
Within seconds I had no feeling in my lips, tongue or mouth. ‘At least I’m not in pain,’ I thought as I tucked into oysters, steak, lobster and spinach and glugged down expensive red wine. Dan, so pleased to see me when I arrived, had turned sulky and silent, staring at his plate, refusing to meet my eye.
When our waitress asked if we’d like dessert he snapped: ‘No! Just the bill — right away.’ He threw his money down and barely glanced at me as he legged it out of the restaurant. ‘How rude!’ I exclaimed to the waitress, hoping for some sisterly support.
‘Er, you might want to check your make-up in the loo,’ she replied.
I looked in the mirror and saw, to my horror, that I had drool all down my chin, smudged lipstick and food smeared around my mouth. I looked like a toddler who had tried solids for the first time.
Unsurprisingly, I never heard from Dan again. Can’t say I blame him.
HE DID A FORWARD ROLL IN THE BAR
Sarah Lee, 35, a sales manager from York
Sarah Lee, 35, a sales manager from York, says:
We had barely had time to exchange pleasantries on our first date when one guy I met on Tinder asked me how supple I was.
Aware that there was only one, clearly sexual, reason someone would ask that on a date I attempted to change the subject politely.
But he stood up and, on the stone floor of the genteel pub in Harrogate, performed a forward roll.
It was impressive, for a 6 ft-tall man in his 30s — but such odd behaviour. The people around us felt obliged to clap, albeit half-heartedly.
Returning to his seat, as proud as punch, he took a swig of his beer and asked whether I’d ever done yoga and, if so, could I ‘hold a shoulder stand for four minutes?’.
Horrified that this was going to be his next demonstration I did my best to keep him talking.
As soon as we had finished our drinks, I made out I had forgotten something important I was meant to be doing and disappeared.
HE CLONED MY CARDS, THEN STOLE MY CASH
Megan Davies, 27, a journalist from Eastleigh, Hampshire, says:
I met up with my date in a trendy bar in Brixton, South London, delighted to see he was handsome and dressed in designer gear.
He was also driving a Mercedes. Despite his obvious wealth, he left me to go to the bar several times.
Later, when I returned from the loo, I saw that some of the contents of my bag were scattered on the floor and, assuming I had kicked it over, I put them back. He dropped me home and we chatted about going to Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park the following week.
The next day I got a call from my bank to say that there had been ‘suspicious transactions’, totalling £1,100 — mostly at clothes stores — made by someone using my debit card. I knew immediately that it had to be something to do with my date.
The bank’s fraud team, who thankfully reimbursed me, said he probably took photos of my card and my driver’s licence. I messaged him, asking if he knew anything about it, and he blocked my number. His profile, which I’m guessing was under a false name, also disappeared from the dating site. It was chilling.
ROMANTIC TRYST WAS AMBUSHED BY ARMY
Christine Brown, 44, from Chichester, West Sussex, runs a publishing company
Christine Brown, 44, from Chichester, West Sussex, runs a publishing company. She says:
I was 19 and had been seeing a boy for about a month when we were out one afternoon walking in parkland, near the barracks in Woolwich, South-East London.
We lay down in the long grass and started a serious smooching session when suddenly we were both conscious of a very loud noise that was getting closer by the second.
Looking past my boyfriend’s head, I saw an Army helicopter which, quite literally, appeared to be about to land right on top of us, and I screamed. The doors of the chopper opened, presumably so they could gauge how far they were from the ground, and several heads, including the pilot’s, peeked out of the doors.
With a bird’s eye view of us, the soldiers were all whooping, whistling and shouting ‘Phwoar!’
My boyfriend took this as his cue to run, leaving me alone, thankfully still fully dressed but very much flustered and with clothes askew.
I chased after him, the squaddies’ catcalls and laughter ringing in my ears, and when we both reached the main road I shouted: ‘What the hell were you doing running — and leaving me?’
He said: ‘I’m so sorry, I panicked, I thought they might arrest us!’
It took many bunches of flowers, and lots of apologies before I finally forgave him. Even now, walking past that field when I visit family and remembering that occasion brings me out in a cold sweat.
I CHATTED UP THE WRONG BLOKE
Sue Bordley, 48, author of Rescue Me, is married with two children and lives on The Wirral, Merseyside. She says:
Sue Bordley, 48, author of Rescue Me, is married with two children and lives on The Wirral, Merseyside
My first ever date with Martin, my husband of 17 years, initially went so awry that we very nearly didn’t meet. We had chatted online and, before our first date, in a Liverpool bar, he sent me a photograph of himself, which he said was ‘a couple of years out of date’.
Arriving at the pub, I saw a man, fitting his description — stocky, sandy-haired and blue-eyed — sitting alone at a table.
As I got closer I saw that, far from being in his mid-20s, he was more like a 40-year-old.
I thought: ‘Flipping heck, he wasn’t kidding when he said that photo was out of date.’
But, resigned to the fact that people do lie about these things when they are online, I sat down opposite him at the table.
‘Nice to meet you at last,’ I said, smiling.
He said: ‘Oh hello’ and then I went on to tell him about my journey in, politely asked about his, and chatted about what a lovely pub it was.
As it became clear he wasn’t going to offer me a drink, I got up to go to the bar just as a man, much closer to my age, approached and said: ‘Excuse me, are you here to meet Martin?’
I said ‘Yes!’, realising my mistake immediately and that this younger man was my date.
The guy at the table was a bit nonplussed.
He must have thought me very forward when I had started talking to him.
We bought him a drink by way of apology and then laughed a lot about the mix-up.