I’m always surprised in the online dating platforms that allow you to list your hobbies and interests when people put things like “computer games” or its frequent female equivalent “shopping”.
Surely these things are not so much hobbies as vices or habits at best. Giving them the elevated status of a hobby is taking the biscuit.
But perhaps I shouldn’t mention biscuits in connection with the latest passtime I heard described as a hobby.
French and slightly decadent
My date was of a certain type I’ve had a few of lately (certain types of dates often seem to appear to me in clusters). French, slightly decadent, with expensive tastes in food and wine.
Generally this type are looking for something a little more elegant and fancy than me as boyfriend material, though they do occasionally end up hooking up with me.
This one certainly seemed to fit the pattern. She told me that she always drank champagne at home and sucked on her cigarette slightly disdainfully when I mentioned that this must be quite a costly habit.
“Stupid countryside”
One thing I didn’t know about her was what she was interested in, apart from work and drinking champagne, so I asked her about her hobbies.
“What I particularly don’t like,” she said drawing on that cigarette again. “Is riding a bicycle or going into the countryside. It’s muddy and cold. I prefer to stay in the city.”
“Ok,” I said. That’s what you don’t like but I asked what you do like.”
It was a mild winter night and we were sat at an outside terrace.
She took a deep breath on that cigarette again and muttered something.
Choking on my drink
At that very moment a truck went by, making me doubt what I had just heard.
In fact what happened was literally that literally cliche of choking slightly on my drink.
“Excuse me?” I said. “I thought you said…er …”
“You ‘eard me,” she said. “Yes, I said ‘wanking‘. Is there something wrong with that?”
Nostalgia for lost pastimes
There’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanking and a lot right with it. I suppose I just feel nostalgia for the days when a hobby was something painstaking that often seemed to involve glue and matchsticks.
The French girl told me to get in touch with her but when I did she was busy and didn’t seem interested in meeting up.
I was a little disappointed as I liked her. She was cute and funny.
But I had always suspected we weren’t each other’s type.
And I guess thanks to her “hobby” she didn’t feel she needed to make too many compromises while she waited for Mr Right to come along.
By Max
