Dating a geek guide
Imagine that the stock exchange traded exclusively in the concepts of self-esteem and dignity, and that its traders were all angry monkeys on heat. The man begins the game by ‘dancing’ for the ladies' delectation.
There’s a certain noble grace when peacocks engage in this sort of ritualistic mating behaviour, but when we men do it we tend to resemble a drunk uncle at a wedding.
Every few minutes a swirling vortex would appear in the air next to Cilla, and she’d shove her hand into it, grabbing out handfuls of Scouse banter and showering it over the audience like confetti.
The man's aim is to convince the ladies – through the sheer force of his poise and charm - to keep their lights on for the duration of the game.
One of three things will happen, depending upon the number of lights still in play at any given time: he will be rejected by all of the women; he will be chosen by one of the women, or, at the very end of the game, he will get the chance to choose between two or more women.
Striding in Cilla’s place at the helm of this pheromonal Armageddon is Paddy Mc Guinness, a catchphrase-spouting, pathologically winsome creature who was surely created in a special lad-boratory somewhere on the outskirts of Wigan by splicing together the DNA of a Butlins redcoat and the entire canon of Nuts Magazine.
He's basically a living, breathing Club 18-30 holiday.
Even his name is redolent of an Irish theme bar in Magaluf. ” “Ay oop, Paddy, I tell thee, ah wouldn't mind ‘im rakin' about in ma lady garden!