He was the perfect man – then I smelled his Guinness farts

Would I be a loser for meeting a man on dating sites?  (Picture: Getty Images)

I never thought that I’d be a woman who used dating sites. 

But during a long dry-spell, there I was on a Friday in 2010, in my pyjamas with a glass of wine and using a site like a Sims character generator.

I’d type in strange combinations of looks and personality traits – lives in London, green eyes, Scottish, works in media, likes cats and kickboxing – just for the hell of it.

Surprisingly, a match popped up. His name was Brodie* and the desired green-eyed Scot. A comment from his bio claiming he’d once made friends with a pigeon in Hackney made me laugh.  

We got chatting. He used full, punctuated sentences, and made minimal references to the word ‘banter’. We really hit it off. But then he asked if I wanted to meet for a drink, and I panicked.

If I went through with this, would I be a loser for meeting a man on dating sites? 

I saw the bartender wrinkle his nose (Picture: Getty Images)

I closed my laptop and decided internet dating wasn’t for me.  

A week later, my company sent me to work at a trade show. I arrived on time, got set up at the stand and waited for my work partner to show up.

It was Brodie.

I recognised him instantly. Unflatteringly, he didn’t recognise me. At all. Which was probably fair, considering my profile photos had been taken from a (very) flattering angle with (very) strategic lighting, makeup and art-direction from two female friends.  

Brodie kept saying asking, ‘ You look so familiar, have we met before?’ to which I replied, ’I’ve just got one of those faces’ – that ominous phrase used by villains in Netflix shows, or people who’ve ghosted their new colleague on a dating app a week before. 

Every time Brodie shifted in his seat, the smell intensified

Despite the awkward origin story, we got on well. Brodie really was funny and genuinely kind, and helped me pack up the stand when it turned out we’d ordered 400 more branded tote bags than anyone wanted. 

As we were leaving, he asked me out for a drink (again). I panicked, again, and said no. I’d end up admitting that we’d already met online and look like a weirdo for not saying anything sooner.

Back at home, however, I felt cross with myself. Where was my lack of spontaneity? If I wanted to break this never-ending dry spell, I needed to be proactive. Also, I realised grimly, I should probably also be honest. 

I logged in, found Brodie’s profile, and typed, ‘You won’t believe this, but…’

To his credit, he found the whole thing funny. That had to be a good sign. We arranged to meet up two nights later.  

I got on the G&TS, he was on the Guinness. There was no first-date awkwardness, because we’d already spent two days bonding over branded lanyards. I was starting to relax when it happened.  

He was on the Guinness (Picture: Getty Images)

The smell.

At first I thought it was the drains. Or someone had dropped some scampi fries down the back of the radiator several months earlier. I even furtively checked the bottom of my shoes. But then it happened again. And again. And again.  

It was Brodie. He’d let out a succession of silent but deadly farts. 

It became harder and harder to make small talk when being slowly suffocated by a cloud of Guinness gas but I stuck it out – until the smell began to travel. 

I saw the bartender wrinkle his nose, then sniff the beer trap. A couple next to us moved tables.   

Every time Brodie shifted in his seat, the smell intensified. I began to drink more, because having a glass close to my face somewhat blocked out the stench, and tried to breathe through my mouth.

Five drinks in, and I swear the air was shimmering. It was less of a smell now and more of a malign presence. There were three of us on this date.

When I saw a group of girls at a nearby table spraying perfume into the air, I realised I couldn’t take it anymore. 

When I got home, I could still smell him on my clothes (Picture: Getty Images/Westend61)

As Brodie leaned forward to start another story, the smell enveloped me, like a pungent cloak, and I blurted out: ‘I have to go now.’

He looked surprised, but agreed it was late (it was 9pm). I accepted his hug goodbye, angling my face away from the source.  

When I got home, I could still smell him on my clothes. I stripped off, scrubbed under a scalding shower, then deleted my dating profile for good.  

He messaged the next morning: ‘Such a great time last night! Hope we can do it again, x’

With a grimace, I replied: ‘Yeah was fun! V busy at work but will let you know :)’ then hid my phone under a sofa cushion.  

I took a break from dating for good. I worked on myself: I joined a gym and a yoga class, both of which smelled better than Brodie did. 

Online dating truly wasn’t for me. I should have trusted my gut – and not date someone who fills theirs with Guinness on an empty stomach.

Name has been changed   

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