This was not the only bad date I endured after my five-year relationship ended. There was the guy who always made very specific excuses to go home after he had sex with me, like "I need to pick my sister up from the Tube station" or "Just remembered I forgot to put the Tupperware of leftovers in the fridge". The guy who thought conversation meant telling me to watch Ingmar Bergman films. The guy who asked me to give him a percentage estimate of how likely I was to have sex with him so he could work out whether it was worth making the hour Tube journey to New Cross, UK.