It took Rory Carrick a long time to secure a date with The Estate Agent, via Plenty of Fish, but was it worth the effort?

My first experience of dating on Plenty of Fish (POF) was fun, exciting and for all intents purposes, a success. It was a whirlwind romance over a couple of weeks with a dashing man, but alas it ended. Not one to be fazed, I got straight back up on the proverbial horse, or perhaps right back into the fish tank might be a more appropriate phrase.

More tailored searches for varying types of gentlemen. More messages sent to pretty faces. Some responses, no responses, rude responses – I had them all. My conversation with The Estate Agent (TES), who looked good on paper/screen, was drawn out. Apparently he’s far too busy to check his phone every 4-6 minutes like everyone else, to see if anyone is giving him attention. Here’s how our chat went:

Monday

Me: Hey how are doing, read your profile, lots of similar interests. Maybe drop me a line if interested in chatting more.

TES: Hey, thanks for the message, like your profile too. You’re quite handsome, where you based? (He did really say I was handsome; I didn’t make that up.)

Me: Thanks (blush). I’m in North Dublin, how about you?

Tuesday

TES: I’m in North Dublin too. What you up to?

Me: Just in work at the moment. How about yourself, are you working today?

 Wednesday

TES: Ye, was working myself. Would you be interested in having a pint and a chat sometime?

Me: Sounds good to me. When were you thinking? Evening or weekend is best for me, if you want to pick one.

Friday

TES: Yes, evening is good for me.

At this point I was losing the will to live. It had taken five whole days to establish we both live and the fact that we would both like to get a pint. I’ve really never understand people who start a conversation and then disappear. We are all busy, but seriously how long does it take to send a message? You can do it on the toilet, for God’s sake.

We had another week of disjointed conversation and eventually arranged to meet up for the aforementioned pint. It turned out The Estate Agent was living about five minutes drive away. For some reason I really didn’t have high hopes about a budding romance and thought about cancelling, but figured that would be a bit of a shitty move. I know I’d be annoyed if someone did it to me. Besides, it turned out he was renovating a house and I’m a bit of a fan of the likes of Grand Designs and anything involving Her Royal Highness, Sarah Beeny. If nothing else developed between us, I’d at least get to see his development!

We met in the car park of the local Supervalu. I’m sure many happily ever after’s began the exact same way. He was tall. Very tall. Picture Danny DeVito and Arnie in the movie Twins.

We strolled around the corner to the pub. I use the term ‘pub’ loosely here. It’s a small town. The pub is very local. Very local. It’s a mix between someone’s living room (not a trendy shabby-chic one) and a GAA hall. I’m sure I spotted a cat asleep in the corner. We got a couple of pints and settled at the bar for a chat.

It was tough work, I have to say. I’ll generally waffle away to anyone, but alas this chap was of the shy variety and it was difficult to get much of a conversation flowing. There wasn’t a hint of a spark between us.

After finishing our pints we headed off to see the house he was renovating. Once I was through the front door, I immediately became a mix of HRH Sarah Beany and that other queen, Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen, waffling on about feature walls and open fireplaces. It was a great house I have to say and I think at one point my mind drifted off to imagined myself sitting on a comfy sofa by a crackling fire with The Estate Agent, supping wine and looking at our gorgeous feature wall.

Then I snapped back to reality. He was not my man, and despite taking the time to meet up we were both very happy with that outcome. Back to square one on POF for me.