Date: The Spanish playboy

Venue: The Palace, Coogee

Spark: 9/10

Intellectual connection: 8/10

Physical appeal: 8/10

Date rating: 8/10

I first spoke to Carlos on that little iPhone app called Grindr. Carlos was 28, Spanish, tall, dark, handsome and seemed reasonably bright given the short conversations we had had through Grindr's chat. He was just 254 metres away (if you believe Grindr's unreliable GPS positioning) so, after a few days of brainless conversation, we decided to meet.

We met at The Palace in Coogee. He liked the roof terrace so we headed upstairs, grabbed a small, two-person table on the balcony and got ourselves two schooners of Pure Blonde. Carlos was incredibly easy to talk to: relaxed, confident, genuine. He had no problems in making conversation- there was never an awkward moment of silence. His English was perfectly spoken with a barely-noticeable Spanish twang that occasionally came through his strong, almost fabricated, Australian accent.

The nicest thing about Carlos was his smile. When he smiled, his whole face lit up to show a set of perfectly straight, white teeth. "I had braces," he said after I complimented him. It wasn't difficult to make Carlos smile. He was a happy chap. He loved Sydney and Australia and said about six times throughout the conversation that he could never see himself going back to Spain.

A drunk 21 year old girl stumbled up to us- her beer sloshing against the rim of her glass, "having a good night guys?" The girl's speech slurred slightly and her eyes rolled up beneath her heavily made-up eyes.

"Great thanks," said Carlos, "how's your night going?"

"Yea, really great thanks. It's my boyfriend's birthday. I spent $200 on his birthday present," she said proudly as if the amount she had spent was a direct indicator of just how much she loved him.

"That's quite a lot of money. You must really love him," Carlos said.

"Yea, I do. Have you been in love?" She asked Carlos. I was thinking how ridiculous her question was. Who hadn't been in love by the age of 28?

"No, I haven't," Carlos said, "I guess I've just never found the right person."

The drunk girl looked slightly horrified then stumbled into the horizon, her heels getting caught in the gaps between the wooden decking.

Carlos had this self-fulfillment you don't often find in gay men. There was no clinginess, no desperation, no neediness, and he had zero expectations as to where the night was going. I found it both endearing and frustrating. It was difficult to figure out whether he was interested- for the vast majority of the night he seemed to want little more than friendship.

At the end of the evening, after several schooners of Blonde, the two of us decided to head home. He asked me back to his place for more drinks, but unfortunately I had a 7am flight to catch the following morning. I declined, headed home, drank about four gallons of water and went to bed. I slept well that night. For once, even if he wasn't as interested in me as I'd like him to be, there was a little spark I hadn't had with anyone for a long time. It was just nice to know that spark could still exist.

RULE #25: Don't go on dates and drink so much when you have a flight the next morning. Flying with a hangover is never pleasant.