Yesterday, a friend of mine forwarded me an email she’d got from a person she’d been on an internet date with, indicating that he wasn’t keen to proceed with their relationship any further than the scant minutes they’d spent in a pub together a few days previously. These communiqués are, by their very nature, brutal – especially if the recipient is even mildly invested in meeting up for a second time, or having their children, or whatever. The only fun you can possibly have while reading one of these emails is watching the sender’s pathetic attempt to let you down gently, when they’d rather not spend any time writing to you at all. They really can’t be arsed. They’d rather hose out stinking bins than explain themselves to you. But they feel compelled to do it. Anyway, let’s see this email in full, because it’s a classic of the genre. (NB: my friend forwarded it with a note saying “What is this, exactly? A praise fucking sandwich? *rolls eyes and gives up on men completely*”

I’m so sorry.  I’ve been very rude with slow response.
It was very nice to meet you at last – I really enjoyed our (shortish) evening together.  I don’t know what you think/feel (you were quite hard to read…like a proper woman) but I suspect it might be the same as me and although I liked you very much (you are properly amusing amongst other things, thank you very much) I think we may have a few fundamental differences between us that would spell doom in the long term.  I guess the all elusive spark was a bit missing.
But while I’m thinking about it and if it doesn’t sound too crass, I also think you’re extremely sexy, hence feeling rather grumpy writing this.
I think I’ll come off the site for a bit.
Genuinely, best wishes with EVERYTHING.

Aside from the fact that he has problems stringing a sentence together, there’s a couple of fantastic moments, here. The phrase “You were quite hard to read…like a proper woman” is so baffling I barely know how to parse it. And we should all luxuriate in the “sexy” compliment, which is basically like saying “I don’t really want to talk to you again, but could definitely put up with you wanking me off.”

When I was internet dating back in 2001 – a time when doing such a thing was tantamount to admitting that you were some kind of social leper – I threw myself into the activity with gusto and went on a string of dates that varied very little in their excruciating awfulness. I keep all my correspondence going back years, so I’m now able to revisit some of the “farewell” emails that were sent to me; here are three of my favourite crunch lines:

a) I think we need to get one thing straight, I do like you but I don’t fancy you. I’m sorry for being so blunt but these things are so difficult to say.

b) I dont want to lead you on and make you believe that i am feeling something i am not. sorry.

c) I guess there is no way to make this into a positive. This must feel pretty insulting. I really don’t intend that, and I am sorry if it hurts.

The Americans have got it right. They don’t mess around with tortuous prose. They breeze in and out of dates, leave after 15 minutes if it’s going badly, and don’t bother contacting you again if it was terrible. Maybe that doesn’t dovetail very well with our British nature. But we need to develop a system – a system to bring the curtains down on a relationship after a single internet date that doesn’t involve tortuous prose. I suggest a one line email saying something like:

“That was shit, wasn’t it? Good luck.”