As chat-up lines go, ‘What’s your favourite dinosaur?’ is at least original. At a speed-dating event in Yarm, Joanna Morris discovers what her other ‘dates’ have to say for themselves

I HAD never considered having a favourite dinosaur until the moment a speed-dating romeo arrived at my table with his carefully thought-out icebreaker.

He used the line on every other woman in the room but, to be fair, it beat the oft-repeated: “So, have you done this before?”

No, I hadn’t. A newly single friend, keen to dabble with dating, persuaded me to join him on an evening which I initially feared would see me trapped in a tense circle of dating desperados.

Not knowing what to wear, what to expect or what to say, we turned up at the Ketton Ox pub in Yarm, somewhat apprehensive. Host Stephen Richardson, of MatchMe, put our minds at ease with a warm welcome and a breakdown of the rules.

It goes like this: The girls sit at tables, a whistle is blown and the first man moves to his station. Four minutes are spent with each “date” before a shrill whistle sends them off to the next table. Everyone has a number.

At the end of the night, you mark the numbers you clicked with on a sheet, submit it to the host and wait with bated breath to receive your matches, which are emailed within 24 hours.

Simple in theory: four minutes isn’t that long after all, right?

Wrong. Speed-dating, I soon discovered, could be described as a quick fire way of exhausting your reserve of small talk. The weather?

Check. What do you do for a living?

Check... and three minutes remain.

By the time I’d met my third “date”, I’d cottoned on to the high probability of conversational mediocrity and made the wise decision to substitute, “What do you do?” for “What’s your darkest secret?”

From one medical student came an unexpected confession: “I do drugs – MDMA, acid, everything.”

HIS was not the last odd revelation.

One call centre worker, eager to change careers, candidly told me that he was there to meet someone who would subsidise him through university. One primary school teacher told me that – for no particular reason – she’d told every one of her “dates” that she was a dentist.

Proving there is no typical speeddater, the pool of potential dates was certainly a diverse one. A mixed bag of occupations included inventor, soundengineer, junior doctor, house DJ, psychiatric nurse, hotel receptionist and PhD student.

The Northern Echo:
The pool of potential dates is a diverse mix of occupations and appearances

Whether it was for moral support or the chance to compare notes later, most people showed up in small groups, though a brave few – mostly men – opted to come alone.

Physically, a James Franco lookalike caught my eye, while a dapper gent in tweed got full marks for effort.

A trio of hipsters in drainpipe trousers and a couple of guys with bulging biceps and fashionable haircuts stood alongside a host of Joe Averages to make up the rest of the male contingent.

The formalities of the event lasted a couple of hours, with a break in the middle when people nervously flocked back towards the friends they came with.

Afterwards, people, many now bordering on tipsy, were invited to mingle in the bar – a good opportunity to find out what my fellow daters thought of the experience while trying to sidestep a couple of unwanted advances.

Rachel, 27, fresh from fielding a host of dodgy chat-up lines, said: “The dinosaur line went down like a lead balloon, as did the racist jokes another man was telling. I was not impressed. But it’s been a good laugh and there’re a couple of people I’d like to date. I’d definitely do it again.”

Durham-based inventor and tweed-lover Craig, 34, was similarly positive. “It was fantastic fun and there can’t possibly be a better way to meet so many single people,” he said. “It was much better than a normal night out, everyone was eager to chat and meet people and several people have gone off to other pubs together, it’s been very enjoyable.”

JUNIOR doctor Jon, 22, was impressed at the variety of his dates and the ability to have conversations ranging from Harold Pinter to whether mental illness exists.

However, Stephen, 27, did not fare so well, describing his series of dates simply as “a complete car crash”.

What did I make of it? It was a uniquely self-conscious exercise – everybody knew they were there to try to impress a potential date and this made for some awkward conversations.

Asking one man to describe the most interesting thing about himself elicited a stilted: “I’m caring, considerate, kind and looking for someone genuine.”

For all the obvious attempts to tick dating boxes, there were some flashes of inspiration and in many cases, the whistle interrupted a lively conversation – arguing about whether women should read Bukowski and compiling a list of the best Bon Jovi songs among them.

There’s also the fun afterwards – taking bets with friends on who ticked your box and comparing notes on the daters is undoubtedly a highlight of the experience and, ultimately, it is a good excuse for a fun night out.

The Northern Echo:
Will Smith, as a matchmaker in the film, Hitch

A word of caution: speed-dating is probably not suitable for the frail of ego – holding your breath and waiting for your matches to come in is nerve-wracking. How would someone of fragile pride cope with zero matches?

Despite my progressively tipsy state, I managed to reel in four mutual matches. A respectable result, though obviously I would have preferred if everyone I’d spoken to had declared ever-lasting love.

Perhaps I need a better chat-up line...