The dating minefield

When I was young, dating was a fairly simple business. You dated a friend of a friend, or a workmate, or a neighbour, and either you got on or you didn't.

Now it's more complicated. There are online dating services that invite you to contact total strangers, people you've never met in your life and know absolutely nothing about.

You can only go by what information they put online, which may be heavily embellished or completely fabricated. They may have assumed an entirely fictitious identity, with a fake photo they've stolen from someone else. How do you judge whether what they're telling you is true or not?

At least when I was dating someone in the flesh, someone I probably knew quite well, I knew what I was getting. I knew they were the person they said they were, I knew what they looked like, I knew they weren't artificially enhanced.

They might have put on a bit of a false front or hidden a few bad habits, but they were basically what they appeared to be.

But that's not the only change. Anyone trying online dating also has other hazards to contend with - like scamming and stalking. Apparently they're now so rife on dating sites that customers are deserting them in droves.

Some 52 per cent of online daters said they had come across someone they thought was trying to scam them; 57 per cent of women said online dating is not too or not at all safe; and 85 per cent said someone continued to contact them after they said they weren't interested.

All in all, dating seems to have become a minefield. I'm glad all that's behind me.

Letting rip

I'm baffled by people who get some sort of kick out of criticising total strangers - people they've never met, maybe never heard of up till now, people they know nothing whatever about, people who have nothing to do with their own lives.

They don't care how insulting or hurtful or ignorant their criticism might be. They don't care what effect they're having on the people concerned. They don't care if what they're saying is a complete fabrication. They think it's perfectly okay to put the boot in whenever they feel like it.

I try to avoid such gratuitous attacks on people. I'm no fan of the royal family, but I don't lay into them at every opportunity*. I just ignore them. Naturally I'm aware of all the scandals involving public figures, but I don't promptly add my vitriolic comments to the usual social media pile-on. I mind my own business.

My mother was fond of making disparaging remarks about homosexuals. I used to ask her why she was so obsessed with a group of people totally unconnected with her own life, whom she'd never met, who didn't affect her life in any way, but she wouldn't listen.

There are plenty of people whose views I disagree with, whose personal behaviour appals me, whose mad ambitions alarm me, but I don't feel the need to publicly hurl abuse at them or tear them to bits. I have much more interesting things to do.

It's now routine for public figures, especially women, to get torrents of unrelenting hatred day in and day out. Why should anyone have to live with this kind of permanent denigration? I'm certainly not going to add to it.

*the racist and misogynistic abuse heaped on Meghan Markle is quite shocking.

What's the point?

In general I don't have it in me to hate people. Such a strong, violent, overwhelm-ing, unres-trained emotion is beyond me. The most I'm capable of is dislike or repulsion or disdain.

I've only hated two people in my entire life. My father for steadfastly refusing to accept I was an independent person and not a clone of himself. And a bookshop manager who micro-managed me for two years and put me through a distressing and unnecessary disciplinary procedure.

I think it's mainly because I don't see the point of hating people. What does it achieve? I'm not going to change the person concerned, or whatever personal quirks of theirs I find annoying or peculiar. I would simply create bad feeling and eat myself up with bitterness.

If I find someone rude, or condescending, or bossy, or hypercritical, I don't hate them for it. I just shrug my shoulders and work around whatever it is I dislike, or keep away from them.

Of course my lack of hatred is partly due to a fortunate life in the sort of respectable circles where most people have treated me decently. If my life had been rougher and I had been at the mercy of vicious, predatory thugs who cared nothing for my health or well-being, no doubt I would have hated them pretty quickly.

If I had been a victim of sex traffickers, or sweatshop bosses, or a brutal husband, or a barbaric religion, then it would be hard to avoid sheer, unadulterated hatred for the way I was being treated.

I certainly don't have it in me to hate complete strangers, people I've never met and know nothing about except what I read in the media. Why should I take the slightest interest in them, never mind cultivate such strong emotions on their behalf?

I wouldn't have been much good as a soldier....

First impressions

I got to thinking about what I look for in someone I've just met. How do I sum them up? What are the important things to know? These are the questions I tend to ask:

1) Are they my sort of person? Do they share my views, my general outlook, my hang-ups, my tastes?
2) Are they trustworthy? Are they what they seem to be? Or are they two-faced and slippery?
3) Are they intelligent? Do they look at things critically, shrewdly? Or do they just take things at face value?
4) Do they respect me? Do they accept me for what I am? Do they take me seriously? Or do they look down on me?
5) Are they interesting? Do they have unusual views and quirks? Are they surprising and unpredictable?
6) Are they genuine? Do they tell it like it is, or do they pretend to be something they're not?

Of course this may be the only time I meet them and I may never see them again. But I still ask all these questions, just to get a grip on them, to see below the surface. It's an entrenched habit.

If it's someone I might work with, then I'll ask other questions. Are they reliable? Will they do what they say they'll do? Are they supportive? Will they help me or attack me behind my back? That sort of thing.

It seems unusual to assess others in such detail. A lot of people simply go by instinct. Either they feel comfortable with someone or they don't. Either they like the look of someone or they've got nasty eyes. Maybe that works, maybe it doesn't.

Sometimes that's all you've got time for. Sometimes you just know in a split second that someone's an arsehole. Sometimes all you notice is how drop-dead gorgeous they are. Sometimes all you want to know is where the booze is hiding. Life's funny like that.

Hidden lives

We all know about Too Much Infor-mation. But what about Too Little Infor-mation? What about all those everyday things we'd love to ask people about but it's impossible to do so?

I'll see a woman in the street and I'll think, Does she have a boyfriend or a husband? Are they happy together? Are they unhappy? What do they love about each other? What do they dislike? Is she well-off? Is she broke? What's her favourite activity? What does she totally hate doing? What are her obsessions? What are her phobias?

I shall never know because I can't ask. She's a closed book, an enigma, just another person on the street I'll probably never even see again. The perpetual pang of unrequited curiosity.

Sometimes I feel other people are asking similar questions about me. They stare at me quizzically, appraisingly, as if there's something they're dying to know. I wonder what's going through their mind. But just as I can't question them, they can't question me.

Even when I'm alone with someone, they seldom tell me very much about themselves. Either they prefer to keep things private or they don't think I'm trustworthy or sympathetic enough. Unlike some people, who find that everywhere they go, they attract astonishingly intimate and heartfelt confessions. So much so, they start to think it might be less of a burden if they looked a bit more off-putting.

As it is, most of my information about other people comes from the media. I eagerly devour the agony columns, the gossipy interviews, the heartbreaking stories about refugees, flood victims, premature deaths. It's odd that I know more about all these complete strangers than I do about the next-door neighbour or the greengrocer. Or the sad, defeated-looking woman who just got off the bus.

PS: There's another explanation for people not confiding in me. They think I look over-sensitive and possibly easily upset by whatever harrowing story they might tell me. So they keep quiet.

Secret admirer

I'm still thinking about compli-ments. And I'm wondering if I'm the only person in the world with a constant desire to compliment total strangers on their appearance.

Whenever I'm out and about, if I see someone who's amazingly beautiful, or who's wearing some lovely bit of clothing (usually a woman but sometimes a man), I always have the urge to tell them.

I don't of course, because their likely reaction is either that I'm a nutter, or I'm about to hit on them, or I'm out to sell them something. They'll either mumble a reluctant "thanks" or say nothing. Then they'll move off in a hurry, furtively checking I'm not following them and intent on knifing them to death.

It's frustrating though, because I'm sure the other person would love to know that their dress/suit/hair/bracelet is admired by someone and isn't just an expensive mistake. And I'm sure they'd love to know that they're seen as attractive/handsome/sexy and not as a plain Jane or a clammy Sammy.

There should be a National Compliment Day when we voice all those unspoken compliments to whoever it is, and the complimentee always relishes the sentiment rather than freezing with apprehension. Just think how awash with pleasure and self-esteem we would all be by the end of the day.

It's sad that we have to keep so many potentially uplifting compliments to ourselves and the admired person never has an inkling that something about them is appreciated or even envied. Sadder still if they happen to be depressed and in need of a few encouraging remarks.

So here's a question for you. If some aging geezer like me stopped you in the street and said he adored your dress (or jacket) would you be pleased or alarmed?