HOLLY MIRANDA SMALE

Writer, photographer, "rapper" and general technophobe takes on the internet in what could be a very, very messy fight. But it's alright: she's harder than she looks, and she's wearing every single ring she could get her hands on.







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Wednesday, 18 March 2009

The BBC have kindly agreed, after a bit of persuasion, not to come on my date tomorrow, which is very considerate of them. They suggested "asking (producer boy - i'm not saying his name: that's not fair, it's me in this circus, not him) if they could interview him before the date," and I put my foot down. There's weirdness - being asked out on national radio, strangers Facebooking me to ask 'when my date is', having the BBC at my house filming me make a Pot Noodle - and then there's just that one step too far. And having a first date interviewed for BBC One before you even know if they've got any siblings or like, for instance, cheese (he'd better: I only like and trust one person who doesn't like cheese, and I'm limiting it at that), is one step too far.

Instead, they are going to come to Saturday's radio live show to ask him what he thinks of me on camera. I'm in some kind of media/romantic zoo, apparently. I'm half expecting somebody to chuck me a fish and ask me to dance for my dinner.

I think I can safely say that - for a deeply private, if gobby, person - this is, without a doubt, the strangest couple of weeks I have ever had. It's hard enough getting a date at all, without doing it in front of the nation. Usually (and why this is, I don't know. I can only assume I don't give off very appealing vibes) I just get a "want to pop over after the pubs close?" suggestion, which doesn't really appeal to the Elizabeth Bennet in me. Frankly, I'm not going to blame my date in the slightest if he shrugs at the camera and says "yeah, whatever. Not all that, eh. She talks with her mouth full, actually".

My dad is going to go bloody nuts. At least producer boy likes football, though. I can try and appease him with that.