Dating 0.1

It was only when I went to the bathroom and noticed the entire wall covered in Sellotaped cut-outs of old word searches that I realised his love of words far surpassed mine.At the time, I was going through a rather fun phase of dating stand-up comedians — most of whom lived up to their reputation of being hilarious onstage and utterly depressed off it, apart from a few. One of whom I married; another is now nailing it in Hollywood. Let’s face it, we all know which one’s done best.The latter — and I should clarify — was more a handful of encounters than an actually dating. It ended abruptly after he turned up with half a kebab down his front and left shortly after I named my top five cheeses. I suppose Stilton isn’t for everyone. It’s an acquired taste.Our first official meeting was equally… specific. I was greeted at a train station somewhere deep in East London by an overly enthusiastic man wearing a backpack, clutching both straps, who announced, “I’ve got the goods!”Momentarily concerned — and reminded of the time, aged thirteen, I met a boy outside McDonald’s whose idea of a date was me acting as lookout while he shoplifted the local pound shop — I was relieved to discover that the “goods” were, in fact, a Scrabble board. The only thing being robbed that night would be my dignity.I love words. I always have. My entire English Literature coursework was written in poetry form, despite that very much not being the assignment. Like my mum and her mum before her, words are the most playful art form we know. They keep me company on long commutes, at ungodly hours, and whenever I need a small jolt of happiness or creativity.But that night, they deserted me completely.Faced with an empty Scrabble board and an urgent desire to impress, I couldn’t assemble a single word. He, meanwhile, was a walking dictionary. A close friend texted the inevitable, So, how’s it going?I replied, F*****g awful. We’re playing Scrabble and I haven’t scored a single point.Her advice was swift: Just do three-letter words — cat, dog, pot… run!After what felt like an age, the words finally arrived — clearly on their own schedule. Three perfect tiles, placed with care, forming the word wine. I stood up triumphantly and went to the bar to order another large glass. He took the hint and quietly put the board away.It wasn’t until we got back to his flat that I realised quite how deep his devotion to the English language ran. I asked to use the bathroom — a reflex I have whenever I arrive anywhere — and stepped into a dimly lit, avocado-green shrine to puzzles. Every inch of wall was covered in old word searches, Sellotaped over what I can only assume was the original 1970s wallpaper. A towering stack of crossword books sat beside the toilet, which, judging by appearances, hadn’t been cleaned since that wallpaper first went up.Despite the questionable hygiene, the night itself was oddly lovely. We sat in battered armchairs on his roof, looking out over the London skyline, listening to the James Bond soundtrack. I think I stayed mostly out of convenience. It would have taken hours to get home from one end of London to the other, only to turn around and travel straight back again for work. Plus, I’m not sure the trains were even running by that point.The next morning, he refused to leave until he’d checked for new messages on his Facebook fan page. I found this faintly odd, but I suppose that’s the very definition of fake it till you make it.Just as we were finally heading out, he asked me a question that still haunts me: would I put carrots in a Bolognese?I said no.It was the wrong answer.Today, I firmly believe carrots do belong in a Bolognese — and every time I carefully slice one into the pot, I think back to that date, and to how sure I was of so many things I didn’t yet understand.He later came out publicly as gay, and I’m quietly sad he didn’t feel able to tell me at the time. He was brilliant — one of the good ones — and I think we might have been very good friends. Carrot, by the way, if placed correctly, could have scored me thirty-three points. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit toriecampbell.substack.com