Capricorn vs Scorpio for Pisces

“Ah, here’s a man in a red hat! It must be Fred,” chirruped a lady with a to-dive-for cleavage at the door of Sinns restaurant. She turned to the seven AstroDaters seated blind-datedly around the dinner table and announced my very late arrival. “Look, everybody! It’s Fred Hatman, the man we’ve all been waiting for!”

I apologised profusely to Babett, the statuesque organiser of “8@8” (eight love-seekers dining at 8pm, if you’re wondering), for my being late for eight but couldn’t help noticing that “The Sinns Seven” didn’t appear to be waiting for me at all. They looked like they were already on Planet Lurrrve, chucking back the merlot and smiling shiny-happy smiles at each other with sparkling eyes.

I found my seat between two women, a Capricorn Sun / Aquarius Moon and a Gemini Sun / Taurus Moon, and was introduced to seven other lovelorn but surprisingly good-looking people. Not all singles actively seeking partners look like Lofty and myself, it would seem.

There was a chocolate wrapped in gold on the table before me, alongside a card which read “Fred, Capricorn Sun / Virgo Moon”.

I looked at the stunning blonde on my left, the Cap Sun / Aqua Moon, and her name card said “Helen”. Helen was deep in conversation with the bloke on the other side and I thought I noticed her eyelashes fluttering. To my right was “Natalie, Gemini Sun / Taurus Moon”, and, had she been outside, the night’s Full Moon would have been dancing on her equally empyrian blonde locks. Natalie was also locked in trial-dating mode with a male and I couldn’t help but notice she had a delicious back.

Memories of blind-dating disasters began to flood my brain, the scar tissue of which had clearly never healed, and I shakily emptied what was left of a bottle of red into my glass and drained it. I remembered right back to the Wykeham matric dance circa 1979 and how I had been set up by a head prefect friend with a gorgeous blonde for her big night. She was so delicious on the eye that I had been nervous and, trying to act the gentleman, had offered to get her food from the buffet. I piled a paper plate (you would think Wykeham could stretch to decent crockery) and returned triumphantly to deliver her dinner.

The paper plate, dampened by the small hill of potato salad, collapsed under the weight of the food, depositing the entire contents into the lap section of her brand-new evening gown, which had hitherto sparkled very agreeably in the rays of the disco ball. She leapt up, swore at me like no private school girl of 17 should, and disappeared in a flood of tears into the loo. When she hadn’t returned after 30 minutes, I gave it up as a bad job and went to the local hotel to drown my sorrows. I was not surprised to find friends playing pool in the men’s bar, nor to discover that they thought my evening’s experience the funniest thing since, well, since my last blind date.

Surely this would be better. No paper plates for starters. Or mains. And this was a mass blind date. Where Fred could hide in the shadows, observe the suns and stars at work and lose himself in a quirky conversation about nothing at all, unencumbered by concerns about whether my Capricorn was compatible with her Pisces across the table.

Then I noticed that there was a Pisces across the table. “Pisces Sun / Aquarius Moon” it read, and her name was given as “Jacqui”.

Jacqui noticed me peering at her astrological credentials and gave me a sublime smile, her blue eyes twinkling like no other starsign could. I grinned back and our eyes held. For a second. Until the Scorpio Sun / Aries Moon moron who had been gabbling into her face shot me a look as if to say: “Back off, Cappy. This here Piscean is in Scorpion territory and you know what we can be like.”

“What was he like?” I wondered. I gave him the Fiery Fred stare I reserve only for alpha males who wish to take me on. I was not about to fold like a damp paper plate tonight. We locked visual horns for what seemed an eternity until Jacqui, in disquieted diplomacy, distracted the sullen Scorpio. Not before I had given him a crooked smile which said: “You’ll be disbanded, Scorpion. One hefty hoof from this goat and you ain’t gonna catch no fish tonight.”

When I could no longer bear the sight of Scorpion’s foaming at the mouth over Jacqui, I got up to ablute. As I did so, I heard Babett, who had been clucking over her charges like an AstroMum, say that people were free to move around and chat up anybody they fancied.

I returned to find Jacqui sitting in the chair next to mine. She was chatting to the bloke to her left but turned to me almost the moment I sat down.

“Hi,” we said in unison and, at that precise moment, the entire astro-galaxy seemed to firework up above our heads. It was so startling that I didn’t think to look pointedly in the direction of our eclipsed Scorpio Sun.

Jacqui and I nattered about life, the universe and scorpionus banalis, while my starstruck gaze glooped gloriously on to her blue eyes.

Then she said: “Fred, here’s my card. Please call. I’d like to see you again. I’ve arranged to go surfing early tomorrow morning. Good night.”

I felt like I was heading into the tuberide of my life. I am totally stoked.

With thanks to the Weekend Argus