Alec Fullerton

Fourth Year, French


When our attentive and oh-soobliging maître d’, Don Jorge (George – who used to work at Wahoo), seductively snarled: “you can even take your shoes off, anything goes here, dear boy”, I knew it was going to be a date to remember. My co-glutton and I, nestled in our Moorish nook, made preparations to embark on a gastro-cultural journey of discovery in a banquet of Rabelaisian proportions. The sexual tension was palpable. For fear of compromising her modesty, I was forced to avert my gaze as she plonked prawn after prawn into her mouth. Apologies for this crustacean-cramming resulted in my getting the better of a pair of meatballs – very high meat content (lamb, seven months), which, alas, is a rare occasion these days.

What was your first impression? Unforgivable squandering of tapas

Any awkward moments? Baba ghanoush

Third date? Baba ghanoushgate was a turn off. Nell’s pretty cool though


Nell Norman

Second Year, French and Italian

Christ Church

Cocktail in hand, Alec’s mustardyellow socks airing nicely over the scents of pork-belly and patatas bravas, the date was going swimmingly. That is, until Alec discovered that our waitress was Italian and, astutely linking this to my degree, demanded I converse with her in an inspired combination of social and intellectual pressure. The stress of this encounter, coupled with the competition posed by Alec’s shameless and relentless flirting with the waitress led me to drown my sorrows in sweet, sweet sangria. And I was troubled by his inexplicable hatred of baba ghanoush – fight me? As I slowly realised that I was fast becoming inexplicably wasted we cleared out and headed to a nearby pub before calling it a night.

What was your first impression? Easy to pick up where we left off

Any awkward moments? Baba ghanoush

Third date? I will literally never decline Kazbar