The Twitter Date (Part 4)

Lucy has had one date with Al, who bravely asked her out over Twitter.  If you missed it, click here to
read from the beginning.

In spite of the fact that Al sports a full-on lumberjack-style beard, and has a background that is the polar opposite of Lucy's safe middle-class upbringing, she thought he was rather sweet.  And from some of his messages it seems like a pretty safe bet that he liked her too:

"Good morning, beautiful. How are you today?"

"I had an idea for a future date, if I get lucky enough to have more with you"

"I am looking forward to date number 2, and seeing your gorgeous smile"

"I have taken a real liking to you."

Lucy doesn't understand girls who always go for men who treat them badly. To her, there is nothing more attractive than a charming guy who finds her desirable and has the confidence to say so.  In a polite, non-sleazy, non-aggressive way, of course.  Though most of the guys Lucy has come across on dating apps seem to miss this important caveat - which is why Al seems like such a rarity.

So she accepts his offer of a second date.  They agree to meet in Eastbourne and spend the afternoon messing about by the sea before going for a drink.  In other words, a whole afternoon and evening together - a terrifying commitment so early on.  Lucy makes sure to book a flexible return train ticket just in case she needs to run away in a hurry.

Al’s waiting at by the barrier as she gets off the train.  Lucy is relieved to find that he’s just as handsome and charming as she remembered.  This isn’t always the case.  Sometimes after one date and several wines, a girl can have completely reinvented a man in her head by the time she next sees him.

The only thing that she didn’t quite remember is just how alarming his beard is.  That thing should have its own postcode.  If she gets too close to it she may well start having nightmares about suffocating to death in a container full of Christmas trees.

There’s another moment of panic as she realises she is going to have to get into Al’s car. 

“I’m sure I shouldn’t be doing this,” she laughs nervously.  “Sensible girls do not get into strange men’s cars.  What would my Mum say?!”

“Admittedly, I am pretty strange,” Al jokes.  At least, she hopes he’s joking.

The car is a nice, safe Audi.  Lucy decides serial killers and rapists probably don’t drive Audis. She gets in.

They drive a short distance along the coast from Eastbourne to the pebble beach at Birling Gap.  The weather is glorious – a balmy 22 degrees with not a cloud in the sky.  A handful of people are lounging on the shoreline in swimwear, determinedly making the most of the rare British sunshine in spite of the stupid pointless stony beach and bone-chilling murky sea.  It’s not exactly the bloody Mediterranean, Lucy observes.  But I guess some Brits will take anything they can get.
She hopes Al might be one of them.  She'd like to see what he looks like with his top off. 

They begin to walk along the beach.  Lucy tries her best to look elegant and ladylike as the stupid fucking pebbles slip and slide beneath her feet.   Al is full of compliments, telling her she looks pretty and that he likes her hair.  At one point she slips and he reaches out a hand to steady her.  His is warm and reassuring, and the momentary contact makes Lucy's stomach do a little squiggle. 

"What do you think of the beard today?" he asks hopefully.
"Still don't like it, sorry."  Well there's no point in pretending.
"Even though it's shorter?"
Lucy is confused.  "It's shorter?  It looks exactly the same to me."
"Yes!" Al is outraged.  "I trimmed an inch off it!"

As far as Lucy is concerned, a beard is a beard.  It still thinks it looks like Al has a hedge glued to his face. Which is a shame, because it's a handsome face.
"For our next date I'll trim it even shorter," says Al.
Next date?  Lucy likes the man's confidence.
"Don't do that just because of me," says Lucy, hoping he will entirely ignore this last comment and do it anyway.
"It's ok," he replies.  "I was thinking of trimming it for summer anyway.  I'll just grow it back in the winter when I need to keep my face warm."
Lucy laughs.  "So that means we can have a passionate summer fling and then I'll dump you in the autumn when the beard comes back."
"Bitch!" Al teases, his warm brown eyes crinkling affectionately. 

Beyond the pebbles, the tide is far out, revealing a broad stretch of seaweed-encrusted rocks criss-crossed by channels and rock pools.  Lucy and Al step precariously from stone to stone across them, stopping occasionally to peer into the water to look for crabs.

Al's all about the serious questions today.  "What are you most afraid of?" he enquires.
"Getting old."
"Don't worry, I'll look after you," he promises. "And when you get really incapable I'll happily run you over with my truck."
Wow, what a sweetheart, she thinks, this is definitely my kind of guy.

"You're lucky," he adds, "I've come along at just the right time to prevent you from turning into a crazy cat lady."
"Oh I'd never be one of those," says Lucy.  "Crazy maybe, but not a cat lady.  Don't like pets.  Too much fur-shedding."
"You'll like my pet then," reveals Al.  "He doesn't have any fur."
"You have a pet?" Lucy asks cautiously.   "What is it?  A goldfish?"
"Actually..."  Al pauses.  " It's a bearded dragon."

Shit shit shit.  The man has a fucking pet lizard.  Just when things seemed to be going so well!  A goldfish she could have handled.  But a reptile?  A living one, and not just refashioned into a pair of shoes?

Also, what is it with this man and beards?

She hesitates. "A lizard?"
"Yes. His name's Barry."
Of course the lizard is called fucking Barry.  You can't make this shit up. 
"Um," Lucy says.  "I'm not sure about a lizard. Where does he live?"
"He's very sweet," says Al.  "He lives in a tank in my house, and I feed him live crickets."
Lucy shudders and makes a mental note never to go to Beardy McLizardface's house.

They continue to pick their way across the rocks.  Al drops another bombshell.  "Actually he's not my only pet."
Wait, what?  There's more?
"I also have a stag's head.  His name's Sebastian."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I found it by the side of the road. It's a full skull with antlers attached.  So I took it home and put it on the wall. I didn't even clean it. It's still got mud and grass on it and everything.  It's really cool."

What the fuck just happened?  This sweet, thoughtful guy has turned out to be the type of nutjob who picks up roadkill, puts it on his wall and gives it a fucking name.   Lucy would turn and run but the slippery rocks won't allow it.

"I don't get it," says Lucy.  "Why would you want to bring a dead thing into your house?"
"I think it's beautiful," says Al. " I have a stuffed boar's snout too."
Holy crap give me strength.
"A what?"
"It's not the whole head, just the snout, mounted on a plaque.  I found him in an antique shop.  I've put glasses on him so he looks really cool.  Today he's wearing opera glasses.  Last week it was 70s disco specs.  He likes it."
"He?  It's just a stuffed dead boar's nose."
"No, he has a personality.  His name is Seboarstian."
What. The. Actual. Fuck. 

So Al shares his home with Sebastian the dead deer, Seboarstian the dead pig (see what you did there, Al), and Barry the very much alive bearded dragon.  Why can't the man have a normal hobby?  Like sports?  Or video games?  Even a mild porn addiction would be better than this.

Lucy doesn't know what to do.  She still really fancies the action hero hearthrob side to Al, but could she possibly cope with a guy who is also a collector of weird and dead things?

They head for the nearest pub.  It's a typical country pub, so in keeping with the rules that all pubs seem to follow there's a taxidermied fox on the windowsill.

"Another friend for you," she points out.  

They sit at the last available table and Lucy gratefully accepts a much-needed large glass of wine.  

"I don't like it," she says.  "It's weird to stuff dead animals and keep them in your house.  Why not just bury them?"
She takes a slug of wine and looks up.  Realises they are sitting directly underneath a huge stuffed boar's head.  It's wearing a sombrero.
Lucy wishes she had ordered the entire bottle.

Two wines later, things have improved again.  Al tells her a funny story about how he and his mates were out in Hastings when they saw a drunk driver abusing his girlfriend.  After the police came and took him away, they noticed he had left his windows open, so they filled the vehicle with crisps.  When the man came back an hour later, his car was full of seagulls.
Lucy likes Al's naughty sense of humour.

Al also tells her more about being in the Army.  He was in an engineers regiment. 

"Does that meant you were behind the scenes?" Lucy asks.
"No, I was on the front line.  I was actually part of the capture of Basra when I was just 18."
Lucy is impressed.  This is a man who must have been through an awful lot.  Perhaps it's no surprise that he has one or two quirks.  

And for an army guy he is incredibly thoughtful and gentle.  Certainly not your typical boorish macho twat, all swagger and bravado and misogyny.

Al drops her back at the station.  It's time for the moment of truth.  To kiss or not to kiss, that is the question.  Or would have been, if Shakespeare had had Tinder.

In spite of the unsettling revelations Lucy has had a lovely afternoon. Maybe it's the sunshine, maybe it's the wine, maybe it's Al's chocolatey eyes and earnest admiration for her - but Lucy finds herself drawn to him. 

She'd quite like a kiss but she's still not sure about the beard. Or the bearded dragon. 

On the other hand, she has had a very enjoyable day.  And Al has been extremely sweet, and very open about his attraction to her.  She'd like to give something back.  Maybe she should wait and see if he makes a move...?

But she knows he won't.  He's so gentle and nervous about getting it wrong that if she leaves it up to him he will give her a respectful peck on the cheek and Lucy will get back on the train feeling rather let down.

So at the the ticket barrier she turns to say goodbye, leans in, and kisses him briefly on the mouth.

Al is momentarily taken aback. And then he realises what's just happened and goes back in for another with confidence.

It's the first time in her entire life that Lucy has kissed a man with a beard.

This must be how a eucalyptus tree feels when it's being munched by a hungry koala.  It's soft yet scratchy, a little damp, slightly musty, but not altogether unpleasant.  And to Lucy's great relief, she doesn't get hair in her teeth.  Which was genuinely a real fucking worry.

But the train is in the platform, so the kiss is brief.  Lucy swipes through the barriers, and Al heads home to his freaky menagerie.

(To find out what happened next, click here)

The Twitter Date (Part 3)

It's the day of Lucy's date with Al, the 32-year-old bearded mechanic, lifeboat rescue crew member,
and father-of-two who asked Lucy out over Twitter.

To read from the start, click here.

For the first time in a long time, she's nervous about a date. This isn't your usual, run-of-the-mill online date. The man asked her out over Twitter, for Chrissake!  Without having even seen a photo!

When she walks into the pub, Al is already there, wearing a crisp blue checked shirt, jeans, and proper brown leather shoes.   Arrived first, she notes.  Tick.  Nicely dressed.  Another tick.  Tall, slim and looks just like his photo.  Three more ticks.  But then there's the beard...

The man looks like he has a poodle strapped to his chin.

"Hello," he says, nervously.  His voice is soft, with a distinct Sussex accent - a sort of country burr with dropped Ts and short vowels.  It doesn't fit with the manly action-hero image, and Lucy feels a twinge of disappointment.

"What can I get you?" he enquires politely, heading towards the bar.  Lucy hesitates.  Is this a 'two-polite-spritzers-then-leave' kind of date, or a 'sink-several-wines-and-see-what-happens' kind of date?

Lucy clocks Al's extremely cute bum and decides to go for a large white.  After all, she's come all this way.  It'd be rude not to.

They settle side by side at a nearby table and Lucy takes a gulp.  "Well this is a bit weird.  I've never had a Twitter date before."

"Me neither," says Al.  "But I thought you seemed like you had a really great personality and I was intrigued. So I thought, 'what the hell' and went for it."

Great personality, eh?  Lucy likes to think so, but it's nice when a charming man agrees. Clearly Al has excellent taste.  And she admires that he had the guts to take the risk.

"Also," he adds, "We tend to date people we find physically attractive first of all, and then hope that their personality matches up.  Which hasn't really been working out so well for me.  This time it was just the other way around - I already knew I liked your personality, so why not take a chance and see if the looks match up?  Which I'm delighted to say they do, by the way."

Smooth, Lucy thinks.  She takes another gulp of wine to hide the blushing.

"And now you've seen it in person, what do you think of the beard?"

Lucy studies the offensive item in question.  It's about three or four inches long, thick and bristly.  To be fair, it is neatly-trimmed and well-groomed, but even so, she still thinks it looks like Al has fallen face-first into a vat of wire wool.

She hesitates, not wanting to offend him.  "I've seen worse," she concedes.
"It's very soft, you know," he says, invitingly.

Lucy has never touched a beard before.  This seems very intimate for so early on in the date.  Gingerly, she reaches out and prods the bushy cushion with one finger.

It feels exactly like it looks: coarse and wiry.  Lucy frowns, "It's not all that soft. Not like head hair, anyway."
Al looks crestfallen. "Well, no, I guess not.'  He tries again.  'But it smells really nice too.  I use moisturiser."

This is getting weird.  No way is Lucy about to start sniffing Al's beard.

Al senses he's losing his argument.  He tries another tack. "I get loads of compliments, particularly from men. Guys often come up and admire it in the pub."
Lucy thinks Al might be missing the point.  "But what about women?"
"They either love it or hate it," he confesses.
Lucy doesn't completely hate the beard as much as some she's seen, but she's extremely wary of it. It's suspicious. She's not sure what it might suddenly do.

"Would you ever shave it off?" she asks, hopefully.
"I probably wouldn't ever go back to being clean-shaven, but I have thought about trimming it shorter."
So there is room for improvement.  This is good news.  Lucy reckons she could cope with a neat, short beard.  Something like a Gary Barlow or Ryan Gosling look would definitely be acceptable.

Not that she's already trying to improve Al.  Not on the first date, anyway. There'll be time for that later.

Lucy wants to find out more about Al's background.  Could they possibly have anything in common? "So how did you become a mechanic?" she enquires.

"Actually it was a bit of a long route.  First of all I dropped out of school at 17 and joined the army..."
Crikey, Lucy thinks.  A school dropout and squaddie.  Hardly the ideal match for a nicely-educated lady with a first-class honours degree from a top university.  Her mum would have kittens.

"Army? Gosh.  Did you do active service?"
"Two tours in Iraq and two in Afghanistan.  In between I also did an Open University degree in mechanical engineering, went to Sandhurst to become an officer, and rose to the rank of Captain."

Well this puts a very different colour on things.  You can definitely take an army officer home to meet the parents.  Lucy looks again at Al's broad, war-hero shoulders and warm brown eyes, crinkled at the corners from the Middle Eastern sun, and feels a confusing frisson of attraction.

"So how long were you in the Army?"
"Twelve years. Eventually I left and now I work for a breakdown assistance company."
"You must rescue loads of damsels in distress by the roadside," Lucy observes.  "Surely you don't need to be picking up strangers on Twitter?"
"Actually I rarely meet attractive women through work.  But I do get propositioned by older ladies a lot.  Just recently I had one lady in her 50s who was so pleased that I'd fixed her car that she offered me 10 minutes alone in the back of the truck."
Lucy can see why the older ladies fancy him.  At six years his senior, she might just be one of them. Even if they do appear to have almost nothing in common.

The music in the pub is suddenly turned up loud.  Al moves his chair a little closer.

"So how are you finding the dating apps?" he asks. "Lots of ghosting I suppose?"
"Of course. Happens all the time."
"Actually I've never been ghosted," he reveals.
Lucy is stunned.  What, never?!
"I think it's much more of a guy thing to do. Guys do ghosting.  Girls do crazy stalking."
"I would never do that," Lucy assures him, and makes a mental note never to reveal all the stuff she found out about him online.

Al has a theory about relationships.  "All men are dicks to a greater or lesser extent, and all women are crazy. But it's a sliding scale.  You just need to find someone at the bottom end."
"So where are you on the scale?" Lucy asks.
"Hopefully I'm at the lower end, though I'm sure I have my dickish moments too."
Lucy wonders where she falls on the crazy spectrum.  She likes to think she's pretty sane, but she knows a few of her friends would probably disagree.

"You must be a rare exception," she tells Al.  "All the guys I match with seem to be right up at the top of the scale."
"That's because you are going for the wrong guys.  Guys who are in their late 30s or 40s, who have never been married and don't have kids, are like that for a reason.  They're arseholes.  You need to go for the divorced ones with kids."

This is actually something Lucy has known for a while - but has been avoiding admitting to herself because dating a dad would mean having to deal with Other People's Children.  And Lucy makes it a rule to avoid the little shits as much as possible.

"I don't get it, she complains. "Surely there must be some nice, baggage-free guys still out there?  I know loads of gorgeous, successful women in their late 30s who have never been married and don't have kids, and they're not dicks.  Why are all the guys such arseholes?"
"That's cos they're men," Al shrugs. "So they're on the dick scale.  Your female friends are probably just a bit crazy instead."

Lucy hates to admit it, but Al is making perfect sense.  He seems to have a very wise head on his young shoulders.  But the conversation is quite serious and not really as flirty as she would have liked.

They stay until gone 11 pm and it's time to for Lucy to get the train back to Brighton.  Al offers to walk her the short distance back to the station.

Lucy gets her coat.  What now? she wonders. She's conflicted.  Al is totally unsuitable for her: they have nothing in common.  But with his mature, calm, gentle manner, warm brown eyes, and tall, muscular body, she's finding him rather sexy.  And after two large glasses of wine she would even possibly be up for a kiss... it weren't for that beard.

But Lucy's just not ready to get up close and personal with that much facial hair quite yet.  She imagines kissing Al would be a little bit like being molested by an amorous badger.

So as soon as they arrive at the station she gives him a quick hug, turns, and swipes through the barrier before he has a chance to stop her.

On the train, she suddenly realises they never paid the bar tab.   Lucy is mortified and texts a profuse apology for leaving him to pick up the bill.

His reply comes back swiftly.

"I had a great evening. I would love to see you again and I wanted to pay xx"

(To find out what happened next, click here)

The Twitter Date (Part 2)

Lucy has been chatting with a guy on Twitter.  If you missed it, you can read the story so far here.

Al is a 32-year old mechanic and lifeboat crew member, and unlike so many of the twats and weirdos out there, actually seems like he might be moderately sane and normal.

Sadly, as always, there's a catch.  While Al may seem like a nice enough guy, he has a fatal flaw: his apparently good looks are almost entirely obliterated by an obscene amount of facial hair.

And beards, as any sensible girl will tell you, are fucking gross.

Normally Lucy would take one look at a bearded man and briskly cross the street to avoid him. But there's something about Al that has picqued her interest.  For one thing, he's has been publicly flirting with her in 140 characters or fewer, and it turns out that in spite of the obvious stupidity in growing a beard, he's actually pretty sparky.  For another, he's an ex-army hardman turned lifeboat rescue hero, so he's got at least twelve thousand sexiness points right there.

But so far it's just been a bit of banter - and clearly that's the way it's going to stay.  Idle online flirting, a bit of fun, nothing more.  Nice guys don't go round asking random girls out via Twitter - particularly not when they haven't even seen a photo.  That's just not how it's done.

But then Lucy receives an extremely surprising private message.

Lucy is flabbergasted.  A man who knows almost nothing about her, and who has no idea what she looks like, wants to meet her.

That's just fucking weird.  Al is clearly a psycho.

Of course, there is a chance that Al has read all of Lucy's adventures online. If that's the case, he's probably just come to the conclusion that she's sufficiently sad and desperate for him to be able to get a shag out of her if he plays his cards right.

In other words, a pretty normal guy.

On the other hand, there's no way he can have read the stories. If he had, he would never have approached her.  The revelations about her sex life (or lack thereof) and her neurotic thought-processes would definitely have put him off.

Lucy needs more information.

So he claims not to have read Lucy's ramblings.  In that case what is wrong with him?  Is he desperate?  A fuckboy just looking for somewhere to put his dick?  A scam artist who is going to try to steal all her money?

Of course it is just possible that Lucy has managed to win Al over simply by the power of her wit and personality.  It's happened before, with Steve.  But it that really likely?

On the balance of probability it seems far more feasible that Al is a serial killer.

Al assures her he's not a hipster.  He tells Lucy that he is 6 feet tall, and has tattoos to go with the beard. He also has two kids.

A bearded and tattooed mechanic and dad, who is 6 years younger than her, is a huge departure from the clean-cut, highly educated, geeky, slightly older types Lucy always goes for.

But at least he can spell. That would have been bigger deal-breaker than the beard.

And it's not like Lucy's normal type has been working out so well for her.  She wonders if maybe it's time to take a risk.

Lucy is finding herself rather attracted to Al.  He just seems, well, like a Good Guy.  And Lucy has met so many arseholes through online dating that Al's no-bullshit decency seems to shine off the page. She starts looking forward to getting messages from him and checks her phone every half hour to see if he's replied.

He seems genuinely interested in her for her personality alone.  He had the sparkiness to ask her out, knowing almost nothing about her, and he still hasn't asked to see a photo.  Lucy is impressed.

She wonders how many dates they have to have before she can ask him to shave off the beard.

But while Al seems like a nice guy, Lucy wonders if she could really have a relationship with him.

Does it matter that he's a mechanic and not a lawyer or a doctor?  Will he pour scorn on Lucy's sheltered middle-class upbringing?  Does it matter that he probably doesn't shop in Waitrose?  That his toaster probably doesn't have a bagel setting?  That he almost certainly won't know the difference between ricotta and mascarpone?  Will he sympathise when her cleaner fails to show up, or when she buys 'perfectly ripe' avocados that turn out to be rock solid?

And most importantly, could Lucy ever bring herself to kiss a beard?

Lucy's certain that 10 years ago her mum (who is exactly like the mum from Bridget Jones) would have been visibly disappointed if she brought home someone who didn't have at least one degree from a top university.  But now Lucy's mum is so desperate for her spinster daughter to settle down that she'll be delighted with just about any man who's willing to take Lucy off the shelf.

Even, probably, one who's a serial killer.  As long as Lucy can manage to squeeze out a grandchild first before she gets hacked to pieces.

So Lucy accepts.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.  And if it turns out badly, at least she'll have a good story.

Assuming her body hasn't been dumped in the sea by that point.

They agree to meet at a pub near the train station in Lewes, which is a compromise between where Al lives in Hastings and Lucy's base in Brighton.

But Al still hasn't asked to see a photo.  Lucy's not sure what to make of this.  She reckons he must want to see one but is too afraid or polite to ask.  So for her own amusement she decides to troll him, and asks if he would like her to send one.

Unsurprisingly, his response is enthusiastic.

So Lucy does exactly as promised and sends him a photo of herself.

His response comes back right away.

The reply makes her chuckle.  Ok, so Al is not a total dickhead.  Which is nice.

Lucy rewards him by sending him what he's really after - a proper photo that shows what she looks like.

Apart from anything else, she does it as a favour to any random girls who might be sitting on their own in the pub. She doesn't want them to get accosted by a weirdy beardy stranger claiming to be looking for 'Lucy'.

Al is delighted with the photo.

As she boards the train, she's nervous.  Lucy is not normally nervous before online dates (she's been on far too many to care any more), but this will be her first ever Twitter date, and her first ever date with a beard.

Lucy wonders if she will find the beard off-putting.  She may not be able to stop staring at it.  Will she find it repulsive up close?

And if the date goes well, will she have to kiss it?  She wonders what that would be like. Probably like nuzzling a hessian sack.  Seriously, WTF is up with all those women who like beards?

Still, there's only one way to find out. The train pulls in to Lewes station, and Lucy gets off.

(To find out what happened next, click here)

The Twitter Date (Part 1)

This is a story about how Lucy got asked on a date via Twitter.

Wait... you mean Tinder, right?

Actually, no.  Not Tinder.  Twitter.  Here's how it happened...

Lucy has only recently joined this popular social media platform, and she doesn't really understand it. Currently she has about 130 followers - which doesn't seem like very many.  Lucy wants more.  Having hundreds of followers will make her feel loved and popular - even if she doesn't know any of these people and at least half of them may be robots.

So Lucy is looking at Twitter to see if there is anyone interesting on there whom she can tweet at in the hope that they will follow her.  She spots a chat between Tinder Girl and a guy called Al.

In his profile picture, Al is clearly sporting a large and bushy beard.

Personally Lucy has no idea how anyone could love a beard, and reckons the girls who say they do are only pretending because they like the man underneath and they're hoping that in time they can persuade him to shave it off.

Lucy doesn't have nearly enough patience for that sort of thing.  She hates beards.  More than she hates wet dogs, slow walkers, and unexpected items in the bagging area.

As far as she's concerned, the current obsession men have with growing haystacks on their faces is hideous and obscene and ought to be made illegal.  It's hard enough for a girl to meet a nice man as it is, without two thirds of them immediately ruining themselves by hiding their perfectly decent faces behind an impenetrable thatch of wiry fluff.

The worst is when attractive young guys, with slim figures and well-groomed hair, entirely destroy their features with the addition of a foot-long matted rug that wouldn't look out of place on a desert island castaway.

As far as she's concerned, the only people who should legitimately be allowed to own any kind of facial hair are lumberjacks, old testament prophets, 18th-century scholars, and Arctic explorers.  For anyone who has access to clean water and a razor, there is simply no excuse.

Yes, Lucy hates beards.   So she joins in the conversation.

And swiftly, she gets a response from Al.

Lucy looks at the pre-beard photo.  Al has a friendly face and good hair, with just a small amount of stubble.  Lucy thinks he looks very handsome.  It's certainly a vast improvement on the ridiculous face fungus he's currently sporting.  She tells him so.

Lucy is rather disconcerted.  Is Al flirting with her?  After she slagged off his chin wig?  This is her first proper Twitter conversation with random strangers, and already it's taken a rather unexpected direction.  She hesitates, not quite sure what to say.

Al seems like a decent guy but he's quite clearly joking.  No one in their right mind would ask someone out on a date after just a few exchanges on Twitter.  Especially given that Al has no idea what Lucy looks like.  Her profile photo is of a giraffe.  Admittedly it's a rather attractive giraffe, with large brown eyes, long eyelashes, and a cute smile, but still, it's a fucking giraffe.  If Al fancies giraffes, his problems are far greater than just the beard thing.

Lucy googles the number for the RSPCA helpline, just in case.

So Al can't really be gunning for a date, since no one in their right mind would ask someone out without knowing what they look like.  Lucy could be 85 years old, or 85 stone, or even a man.

But the banter is fun, and Al seems to be doing his best to convince Lucy of the merits of beard ownership.

Lifeboat?  Lucy takes a look at Al's profile.  He says he's a 32-year old mechanic and lifeboat crew member, and has tweeted photos of lifeboats.  Lucy can't help being impressed - the man is an actual fucking hero. Not to mention the fact that if he's a lifeboat volunteer he must be (a) a Good Person, and (b) pretty damn fit.  Not that she's going to let him know she's impressed.  That's not how this game is played.

The article in question says that men with beards are more likely to lie and cheat than men without. 

Aha!  Al has inadvertently proved her point.   Everyone knows Jesus was a massive con artist, and that Santa breaks into people's houses at night and encourages little kids to sit on his lap - so he's probably a paedophile.  Further proving that men with beards are not to be trusted.

Lucy admires Al's persistence.  The problem is, even if he's serious - which clearly he can't possibly be - but even if he were, there's no way she can actually meet him.  There is already far too much personal information about Lucy online.  Al could easily read her messed-up dating stories and jump to all sorts of conclusions.  Not to mention the fact that he would immediately find out about her tendency to neurotically overthink everything.  And then he will definitely realise she's a crazy person and run a mile.

Bizarrely, in spite of the beard, Lucy is starting to find Al extremely attractive.  He has a handsome face, he's funny, and he seems intelligent.  Not to mention the full-on action hero thing.    

But of course they can never meet.  Quite apart from anything else, Lucy's pretty certain Al is a good five years younger than her. When he finds out her age, there is every chance he will lose interest.

Still, 5 years younger, and an action hero.  Lucy's willing to bet Al has quite a hot body.

But even though Al and Tinder Girl share a love of beards, Al does seem to be more interested in Lucy.

It's the chase, she realises.  Like all men, he likes a challenge.  He wants to pursue me like some fucking Neanderthal chasing after a woolly mammoth.

While Lucy could stand to lose a few pounds, and is frequently too lazy to shave her legs, she'll be damned if she'll put up with anyone comparing her to a hairy prehistoric herbivore.

All the same though, it's nice to have a bit of an online flirt.  So Lucy decides to continue the chat and see what happens.

(To find out what did, click here)