A fter arriving in this country late last year with a fellow foreigner and subsequently being unceremoniously dumped, I set out to explore the dating world of Denmark. What I found is a jungle of good-looking, usually well-spoken, trendy metrosexual men who are eager to impress a foreign heart.

 

What I also discovered, unfortunately, is that on the whole Danish men fall under one category. They’re boring.

 

Now whilst I don’t hail myself as some kind of guru on the subject, this is a thought that many a foreign girlfriend has echoed.

 

My first date with a Dane still to this day stands out in my mind.

 

It all began when I was working at a wedding. As I moved around the bar serving drinks, I was drawn to this good-looking, slightly big-nosed man who appeared to be intent on attracting my attention. He seemed forthcoming and interesting, and when he asked if I’d be interested in coffee, I thought why not – little did I know that he was only interesting after he’d had a thousand gin and tonics.

 

Later in the week we met at the predetermined place and from the get-go I was faced with a very different man from the one I’d said yes to. As we walked towards the coffee place I was nearly knocked over when his hand flew across and hit me in the chest. As we continued I discovered that he wasn’t actually trying to cop a sneaky feel (it would have been better than the truth), but that he was actually holding me back from the road to ensure there wasn’t any traffic coming.

 

Now whilst I was perplexed by this and secretly thinking: “I’ve been crossing roads alone for quite a few years now,” I let it go and shrugged it off as a cultural mishap.

 

Once we’d settled in at the coffee shop, where he’d booked a table, we began to talk or rather I began to talk. Quite rusty at the dating game, horror started to set in. Was I talking too much, and is that why he isn’t talking? But once I’d stopped, he didn’t really start.

 

He proceeded to tell me that he was 27, a banker, well-off and yet, despite not being too bad to look at, I couldn’t do anything but stare at my watch as the minutes slowly ticked away. After a rough start, things began to look up as he proceeded to tell me he’d read a bit about Australia as he knew I was from there.

 

This initial excitement only lasted two seconds before I saw the notecards come out of his pocket. Ohh yes, he’d prepared talking points. Now whilst I’m all for a man who wants to take an interest in my home country, Australian immigration facts don’t exactly get my motor running.

 

After this I decided it was time to head off, and it was as I climbed onto my bike that he left me with the parting line: “Perhaps I can oil your bike chain sometime.”

 

After recomposing myself, I felt there was nothing left to say except: “Not to worry, I do that myself already,” and with that I cycled off into the cold Copenhagen night with thoughts of a better day and hopefully a better date to come.