Since I got back from my Panama love triangle as lockdown was first setting in, I have been in self-isolation with precious little opportunity to rebound date or meet anyone new beyond the, even duller than usual, dating apps…

“Hi, what you up to?”

“Nothing, what you up to?”

“Nothing.”

Yep, lockdown is doing precisely jack shit for my withering love-life.

Which is why when a pal introduced me to Binned Date – a lockdown Zoom version of Cilla Blacks classic Blind Date I got more than a little excited.

Sign me up.

Created in the front room of their London abode these three housemates who, getting quickly bored of the regular Zoom quiz night, created their own Saturday night entertainment & shared it with the rest of us, & for that we are thankful.

I first watched the show week 6 of lockdown, when the creators (pictured smoldering above) were on episode 3. Contestants made from an assortment of household objects, voiced over by anonymous Zoom attendees, with live heckles from a 100 strong audience, finishing up with two of the three hopefuls getting literally binned, was fine entertainment on an otherwise 6th, dull as dishwasher Saturday in a row. A couple of the questions had me proper ROFL too. This round gets me Every. Single. Time.

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It was a cute balance of amateur try hard & cheeky humour (kudos to Graham & regular audience members; the hot tub boys) to be impressive & within 10 minutes of the non existent closing credits I had already submitted interest to participate as a contestant. After what I can imagine was a laborious selection process I was chosen as one of the three pickees for episode 4 the following week. Eek the excitement! Having already gotten extensive TV dating show experience under my belt, being one of Paddys former flirty thirty on Take Me out, I like to think I was a natural choice.

If you missed Blind Dates original 90’s heyday &/or lived under a rock, or was still in the womb & happen to think Cilla Black is a new edition Cluedo piece I’ll give you a quick plot outline. One contestant asks a hidden panel of three members of the opposite sex three corny questions & aided with a quick recap from “our Graham” chooses one lucky singleton to go on a date with, often to some spanish shithole, or in this scenario absolutely nowhere. The show was famously hosted for years by legendary, hilarious Scouse & fellow sequin devotee Ms Black then revived in recent years by not so legendary, completely unfunny, but also sequined Scouse Paul O’Grady, but Surprise Surprise (Cilla in joke) failed wholeheartedly to re-capture the magic of the golden era of Saturday night TV… Remember that? When Blind Date was beautifully sandwiched between Gladiators & Noels House party. Ahh memories. Lets all just take a moment.

Good times.

Right, so I’m going to be one of the three women being picked & when I first receive the questions ahead of the show I think someone is clearly on the wind up. Its like I’ve written these questions myself! I even show them to a friend who says I thought you were the pickee not the picker! Bear in mind I am a forex trader too & am obsessed with conditional formatting on Excel & its all a bit weird…

1) Finance is my trade by day, so I’m all too familiar with an Excel spreadsheet. If you were a Microsoft program what would you be and why?

2) I love travelling and living la Vida loca! If you could whisk us away to anywhere on the planet or galaxy where would it be and why?

3) I have a dancing background so I’m no stranger to setting the dance floor alight. If we were to meet on the dance floor which moves would you pull out to spin my world upside down?

I mean come on! If you know me at all, to read that looks like they’ve lined up my dream man. That, or I smell a rat. Bearing in mind that only the previous week I had posted a video of me dancing to Ricky Martins La Vida Loca its all bit fishy…

I become convinced it is my pal Marc who put me in touch with the show in the first place, pulling my leg, masquerading as Mr Right. Marc swears blind its not him by magically conjuring up a girlfriend who he curiously hasn’t mentioned ever before which makes me even more suspicious but I resolve to put my best foot forward regardless & recruit no less than 3 copywriters who all get to work on my answers. All male so that gives you a little heads up as to where my answers might be heading & could possibly be the first place I went wrong. Though to be fair to them I did highlight the objective quite clearly; funny smut, the dirtier the better. I’d done my research on the Binned Dates insta page after all & that appeared to be the name of the game. What I hadn’t clocked however was that I had only watched male contestants answer questions. I didn’t realise but there is quite a big difference unsurprisingly between the sexes! Who knew?! So this was my second issue. My third issue was that I am clearly not well enough acquainted with the mechanical dynamics of a paper clip but we shall get to that shortly.

My lads pull out all the stops & no surprise Ur-anus & my anus gets bandied about heavily for question twos potentially intergalatic getaway & despite some strong competition from my cheeky horizontal lookup, freak between the worksheets for question ones Microsoft program answer, two of my mates, independent of one another, compare me with Clippy. Yes, that detested little paper clip; the pop up office assistant that used to spring up at obscure moments mid document. This is actually quite insulting on reflection but at the time I was just super excited to have a clear winner. I muddle together all their answers to something that vaguely resembles sense & I’m done with it. I got stuff to do. The sun is out & there is balcony bopping to be done.

This Saturday actually was an obscurely busy day in lockdown terms, I had to go shopping for a neighbour AND do a volunteer pharmacy run. I know right. BUSY. I had also decided to dress up as both Disney favourite Princess Jasmine AND & her beau Aladdin in order to film this little gem of comedic genius.

Amongst the mayhem of this ker-azy hectic schedule, as has become the norm, my hygiene got left woefully by the wayside. Despite this being a PA of grand proportions relative to the dead as a door nail state of my covid infected social calendar, not to mention the fact I’d been dressing up to the nines to go to Tesco, it is beyond me why I failed to even wash my face to go on a show watched on this particular Saturday by over 130 people. I hadn’t showered in two days, zero make up, not even any undergarments.

I tuned in with 5 minutes to spare wearing a Tesco jumper the colour of a post tandoori poo which I don’t think I’ve ever even worn before, then topped it off with my now trademark lockdown bow. Talk about polishing a turd. I get in position with my laptop & look down at my answers, the first of which features the word anal. My eyes widen & I start sweating a little, suddenly my appearance is the least of my worries. I seem to have forgotten myself yet again in the excitement & completely ignored the fact I am an out & out prude when it comes to this kind of chat. Its one thing writing it but there is not a hope in hell I will be able to say the word anal out loud. Not to an audience. Not without either vomming in my mouth or laughing unintelligibly, ruining the required deadpan delivery. I start panicking. The show is starting & I’m looking at my prompts with absolute disgust. This really deserved a bit more effort. I quickly consult with my head of editorial on whatsapp who confirms its too late for a re-write.

Fak.

The Binned Date boys are now in the middle of a pre-show skit, giving me a precious couple of minutes but I can’t engage brain, its completely hashed. I know I can’t say the a-word though, thats just out of the question, like no, ick, so I quickly rehearse a new answer which features the phrase “takes it up the rear” which seems more PG. I actually think it reads quite well & I’m quite pleased with myself. Its quite clever after all. Paper clips routinely take paper up the rear don’t they?

I’d created a little Whatsapp group chat for a few of my friends who I thought might enjoy tuning in & laughing at my expense, I check in briefly to apologise profusely for what they are about to witness & its lights camera action.

We are up first & Cilla welcomes the male contestant & I am relieved it is not Marcs voice, & for a nano get excited that it could actually be the adonis of my dreams however in the same moment I also know straight away I just don’t fancy their voice. DAMMIT. It might sound daft, but you know when you just know? It was jovial & bouncy & sounded much younger than me & I’m not in the market for a toyboy currently. Anything that highlights my aging years is well & truly off the menu at the moment. I’m sure one of these days I will rejoice in cougar status, but that time is certainly not now.

He, henceforth known as Mr Living Room, is looking suave however with a frisbee for a face & what looks like some sort of nautical pillow case as a shirt.

I am contestant 3 & am being represented by a rather dashing owl wearing a turban & sunglasses combo that rather reminds me of my Dads friend Tej. The headgear is in classic Jade neon yellow too, result.

He asks the first question & I grit my teeth, here goes absolutely nothing:

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So if thats not cringe I don’t know what is. The other girls don’t seem to have gotten the filth factor memo, instead sweetly selling themselves & answering with just a hint of cheeky, whereas I plunge in with minimal decorum, or pillow talk, offering up anal penetration at the first opportunity. The zoom chatroom goes off with people demanding to know how a paperclip has sexuality & what is this ridiculousness, so I tell my fan-club on my assembled whatsapp group to show me some love in there to detract attention & a swathe of oh so subtle “Jade is fantastic” comments show up. Special thanks to my sister who accidentally sent that rather concise statement to a woman named Sian via private message. That type of individualized promotion really is dedication to the cause, thank you sis.

For the record, for all you naysayers, I am not the only one to have sexualised Clippy. In researching this highly intellectualized piece I stumbled across this gem. I raise my glass to you Leo, sir. Chin chin.

Before Mr Living Room asks the next question, Cilla asks what he thinks so far & he immediately picks me out highlighting my “great answer” ever so enthusiastically. Its early days but I pretty much know I’m getting picked. Lets be real, you don’t offer out anal in your first breath & not get picked? I had him at paperclip. #PlayToWin

I feel bad though, it will be a hollow victory. I definitely don’t take it up the bum, so literally hollow.

Next question & if you can believe it it actually gets worse.

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Even Sharon Stone would disapprove.

For the love of God Jade… you don’t EVEN work from home. Tut tut.

Okay so let me just state this loud & clear – I DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT CONDONE BREAKING LOCKDOWN TO HAVE A PICNIC, CLOTHED OR OTHERWISE UNDER A STRANGERS DESK.

Of all the romantic destinations…

The last question… I can’t even. I don’t have a clip of this one & I can’t remember exactly how the other girls responded but it was probably the merengue or at an absolute push the tango. Oooo spicy. But no not for me, none of that classy shiz, no I twerk now apparently. Yes “I dont dance baby, I twerk so buckle up & enjoy the view because this ride is wet & wild.” Yep really. Wet AND wild. Seriously, laughable. I ain’t got that in the bank my friend. In fact the only way Mr Living Room might end up wet after watching me in action is if he has pissed himself out of pure unadulterated fear. To prove that point here I am incidentally getting down to some dancehall on the lockdown balcony of dreams a few days ago:

Cilla hands over to Graham for a quick recap before Mr Living Room delivers his verdict & its a brutal synopsis. Graham savagely yet possibly accurately describes me as a haunting abstract piece of art that fills him with a sense of foreboding & shame. Fantastic first impression. Mission accomplished.

^{Here’s our Graham with a quick reminder.}

Its a foregone conclusion that I am getting picked off the back of that smutty display & feeling guilty that he may be choosing me over someone more deserving & compatible, I try to deter him by shouting out over the din of the audience sharing their opinion, that Jade isn’t as filthy as she presents. Its fruitless however, & of course the rugby ball gets binned, the funny little gun toting yellow creature gets binned & lo behold the sikh owl aka paperclip girl wins & the camera flips to me in all my shit coloured glory. I’m looking a dishevelled mess, thankful smellovision that I once prayed for as a kid, during close ups of Boyzone on Top of the Pops, does not exist. To draw attention away from my unmade face I try to quickly demo how a paperclip regularly takes it up the derriere except I have no paper clip to hand & now an even less than convinced audience.

Both the other girls, plus the other ladies on the zoom, are dressed up, I spy red lippy & some have even prepared martini cocktails in posh glasses. I, the victor, the main spectacle, bedraggled with my faithful water bottle by my side, which I have washed approximately zero times since purchase (its an actual miracle I don’t have a waterborne disease), look comparatively tramp like. Anyway it soon becomes clear why everyone is dolled up, it appears that the real dating… the REAL courtship goes on in the private chat. No sooner has my ruddy face been shown I receive an influx of private messages with phone numbers offering me a shoulder if it doesn’t work out with Mr Living Room. Given my underwhelming appearance I can only assume they think I am a game old bird & want to be first in line for the sub table anal antics.

After 4 of these messages I attempt to send out a Public Service Announcement on the chat declaring my truth, but being a wally like zoom novice, much like my sister, I actually just send it unsolicited to one solitary person by accident stating very prominently “I don’t actually like it up the bum”

Meanwhile Mr Living Room has been revealed to the audience, myself included, & first impression is he doesn’t seem that bowled over with me, to the point I actually proclaim “ouch” quite loudly. He’s also wearing a turtleneck so you’ve got to wonder whether he too was lying through his teeth when he claimed to live la vida loca.

The exchange is quick & then he’s gone, Cilla continues with last weeks contestants & I breathe a sigh of relief that its over. My pals are loving it though, & all in all I’d say I brought a fair amount of live hilarity into their homes, so if that’s the barometer for success, & quite frankly it pretty much always is for me, then it was a resounding triumph.

The date, which will be recorded for everyone to watch the following episode, takes place over Zoom in the week. I’ve been told its circus theme which is ironic considering I pretty much went on the show dressed like one of those sad, hopeless down & out clowns so at least I’ve got that covered.

Date night swings round & I last minute go all in with the circus theme & opt for upping the ante on my prior clown like form. Go hard or go home… oh hang on a minute… Hmm going hard at home it is. I’ve got some fun polka dot prints to wear & my droopy bow around my neck this time, but it’s still not obvious enough. I don’t fancy drawing on my face, I’ve been getting all zen over lockdown & allowing my skin time to breathe & all that jazz, so I scan the flat for what could be used as the all important red nose. Inspiration strikes & taking the title of the show Binned Date a little too seriously I retrieve a flacid tomato from the bin that I had flung out the day before & gouge it out before sellotaping it to my face. Hey presto, jobs a guddun! Well except it isn’t, is it. The juice is dribbling down my face incessantly & despite trying to dry it out in the sun it continues to ooze droplets down my septum until I can no longer bear it. Long enough however to bang out another trademark balcony vid.

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The date gets off to a poor start as I can’t actually see him, though I can hear him. So he leaves then returns only to have the same scenario the other way round so its a bit of a faff & my tomato is deteriorating fast. After this slight technical glitch though we do get things rolling & I am overjoyed to see I am not the only one who has made some effort. He has really gone the extra mile & is in full Ringmaster regalia, complete with top hat, gloves, the whole shebang. He immediately gets granted a fresh batch of brownie points, however I’m not sure it will ever be enough to come back from last weeks turtleneck.

Sorry for the dodge footage, this is me filming my screen & laughing during the playback on the following weeks episode, which was definitely sobering viewing. I wasn’t prepared for how much of a geezer bird I am! My unappealing use of ungainly slang & gross words like mental & lush. Erghhhh. I mean I’m hardly one for elegance & poise but I def turned my inner lad up a notch. Perhaps due to not fancying Mr Living Room & wanting to actively repulse him, which is actually a trick I use semi subconsciously on many a flailing date. I act very brash & overbearing in an unattractive shrieky, shouty pitch, much to my own amusement, to put them off. But this is the first time I’ve been forced to watch myself back in action; loudly exclaiming “I’m a claaan you donut” when he asks what I am dressed as & to really deter any romantic advances shrill over enthusiastically that I am a vegan. Yes I went there. Pretty much banned first date fodder that is. Ain’t no one getting asked out to a fancy restaurant after that bomb drops.

Thinking he might request a twerk demo I get it off my chest too about the previous weeks events & confess about the litany of lies, not that he is too bothered. I get the impression nothing would bother lovely Mr Living Room, he is a thoroughly wonderful, self proclaimed gent. We have a laugh & although he overuses the word shenanigans I do like him & it makes a pleasant change from sitting alone with me, myself & I on a Thursday evening. So thank you Mr Living Room & thank you Cilla.

The only thing that put me a bit out of joint from the whole experience is that I remarked Mr Living Room looks a lot like Fifty Cent, which he does & his response proved so, but that didn’t stop the audience on both audio & in the chatroom from chiming in with claims of “casual racism” which in itself is kinda racist in a weird twisted way you bellends.

Anyway I’m not sure if its because I had just been dubbed new leader of the Ku Klux Klan or if I’d simply gone too far in my efforts to put off Mr Living Room, but I get zip zero secret admirers sliding into my DMs this time. The second tier dating show in private messenger is completely silent, which stings a little as I’ve put on eyeliner especially. But frankly if you can’t handle me at my laddy, tomato faced worst you don’t deserve me at my marginally less boisterous best. Your loss.

In any case, Binned Date was a super fun project to be part, no romance sadly for me or I think ANY of the connections made on the show thus far BUT still a lorra lorra laughs. I don’t know how much stamina these guys have got to keep this up but I for one will continue to tune in. Bravo lads.

Catch Binned Date at 8pm on Saturday Nights on Zoom by following their account on Instagram in order to get the link @binneddate

Ta-ra for now.