My Date Suggested a Stroll in -4°F Weather Because “Only Gold Diggers Sit in Cafés”—So I Came Up with a Clever Response…

25th January

Todays events deserve to be recorded, if only for posterity and a dash of amusement. My suitor, as English tradition might call him, suggested we meet for a walk in the park with temperatures hovering at minus twentybecause, as he declared, only gold-diggers sit in cafés. I wasnt fazedif anything, I saw a challenge. So, I layered myself in ski gear and thermal underwear. He had no inkling what surprise awaited him.

His name was Charles Webster. The photos on his dating profile showed a perfectly ordinary man of about thirty-fiveneatly dressed, nothing grand or ostentatious. His bio was a medley of thoughts about mindfulness, personal growth, and searching for a true, soulful connection. Experience has taught me: the louder a man waxes lyrical about real women, the more likely he seeks someone who will demand nothing and not challenge anything.

We exchanged messages for a few days. Charles was polite, though occasionally the odd note slipped in. He seemed peculiarly passionate about the notion that modern women, in his words, are corrupted by money.

They all want restaurants, holidays in Ibiza, and the latest iPhones, he wrote. No one cares to look at someones soul, just walk and talk.

As a civilised person, I noddedeven if only in my headand gently steered the conversation elsewhere. Everyone has their scars, I suppose. Maybe his ex-wife left him without a home or illusionswho am I to say? I try not to judge before Ive seen the evidence.

Then came his invitation. The only snag: it was mid-winter. Real winterminus twenty on the thermometer, feeling even colder with the wind. Weather warnings popped up everywhere: Amber alert in force, stay indoors unless absolutely necessary.

Lets meet in Hyde Park, Charles wrote. Well walk, get some fresh air, and discover one another without any gloss.

Charles, I replied, its minus twenty outside well end up as ice sculptures within ten minutes. Perhaps a coffee in a café?

He didnt hesitate.

I dont do cafés. Only gold-diggers go there so men will buy them drinks. Im looking for a life companion, someone wholl stick by me through fire, water, and ice. If youre desperate for me to spend two hundred quid on you, were not a match.

My curiosity won out. I longed to meet this purist of romance, for whom a cup of Americano was a symbol of financial servitude.

All right, I typed back. Hyde Park it is. 7pm, main entrance.

Preparing took longer than anticipated. I dug out thermal underwear, a warm jumper, and finally a ski suit from the wardrobe. I wore chunky boots with wool socks, and topped it off with ear muffs.

The reflection stared backsomeone ready to overwinter on an Antarctic floe.

Well, Charles, brace yourself, I winked to my reflection and stepped out into the frozen darkness.

Right at seven, I was at the park. The frost nipped at my cheeksthe only part left bare. Snow crunched underfoot and the place was deserted, even gold-diggers had opted for warmth.

By the entrance, Charles waited. In an autumn coat. He shifted restlessly, hopping and blowing on his hands. His nose looked ripe as a plum, ears ablaze.

I approached.

Hello, I murmured into my scarf.

He scanned me, clearly expecting a delicate fairy in sheer stockings, shivering prettily and letting him play hero. Instead, before him stood someone more akin to a rescue worker.

Evening, he managed, teeth chattering. You came prepared.

You said fire, water, coldI thought wed start with frost. Shall we walk and breathe fresh air?

Fifteen minutes of fame

We headed down the avenue. This stroll swiftly became one of the most peculiar dates of my life.

How do you find the weather? I asked, in my best small-talk voice.

Its invigorating, he forced out. His face hardly moved now, lips going blue. I like winter. Tests peoples grit.

Quite, I nodded. By the way, your theory about gold-diggerswhy is coffee such a sign of mercenary relationships?

Speaking seemed painfulthe cold made every word an ordealbut his convictions demanded sacrifice.

Because relationships should be about genuine interest, not wallets. If a girl cant just walk, and immediately expects a treat, shes a taker.

And what if she simply doesnt fancy pneumonia? I said, tugging up my hood.

Thats just excuses, he snapped, sniffling loudly. If you want something, you find a wayjust dress warmer.

Well, I did dress warmer, I spread my arms, showing off my bulky silhouette. But you dont seem properly kitted out. Are you sure youre not freezing?

Im fine! he retorted, though his shivering could be seen even in the dim light.

Ten minutes later, we reached the parks central square. There stood a closed coffee kiosk. Charles gazed at it with a longing worthy of a tragic hero.

Shall we head back? he suggested. Winds picking up.

Oh, really! I brightened. Weve only just started. You wanted soul-searching. Lets talk literature. Do you like Jack London? His story To Build a Firethe man freezes to death because he underestimates the cold.

The look he gave me had nothing to do with spiritual quests.

Listen, I need to go, he interrupted. Just remembered, urgent business.

What business? We were to spend the evening together.

Work stuff. Forgot I havent sent a report.

At eight pm, on a Friday?

Yes! he nearly shouted.

He spun on his heel and practically ran towards the exit. I followed, relishing the moment: my survivalist had lasted precisely fifteen minutes.

At the tube station, he didnt say goodbyejust disappeared into the warm underground. I hope he thawed not only his frozen hands but maybe his convictions, too. Though I doubt it.

Back home, I brewed hot tea and deleted our chat. I didnt regret the time spent. Those fifteen minutes were an excellent inoculation against guiltand a timely reminder that looking after yourself doesnt make a woman a gold-digger.