Velvet Cloak, Zero Chemistry: My Night Smirking Through Twelve Rounds of Manchester Speed Dating
Can 500-year-old mystique survive a plastic table, a bell, and a Scouser called Debbie? I wore the smirk, I wore the cloak, and I got marked down like a wonky pastiche. Here's my round-by-round diary of Renaissance romance in a basement bar on Deansgate.