Blind dates are atrocious.

Don’t worry, I’m not straying into dating advice or going to moan about the decided lack of suitable menfolk in Northern Ireland.

But, in my limited experience of the blind dating scene I would say that discussing the merits of Hitler and Cromwell isn’t exactly stellar first date fodder.

Obviously my date didn’t understand my appreciation of the work ethic of Adolf or Oliver. And I was unable to convince him why I felt that these two should be recognised, not admired.

They say you shouldn’t discuss politics at a dinner party, but no one mentioned dictators.

How rude of my date to not let me give him a further insight into my abiding interest in Turkmenbashi.

He, I believe, would very much agree with my plan to celebrate both my tinniversary and chinanniversary – not so easy to type much less say.

Unlike Saparamurat Niyazov, I sadly have neither the means nor methods to fashion a gold statue of myself that would revolve to face the sun.

(Letters of support to the council for a statue to be placed beside Scrabo Tower are of course welcomed.)

And while I cannot mandate that all the months of the year be changed to honour the members of my family, I humbly suggest that September be changed to Kapamber in honour of our move from Tonota, Botswana to Newtownards, Northern Ireland.

Surely this is not too much to ask.

Turkmenbashi got airports, roads, vodka bottles for goodness sake.

Of course I’m not condoning all his behaviour, but according to Wikipedia yer man had a few ideas I could get on board with. He banned the use of lip syncing at public concerts; he outlawed opera, ballet, and the circus in 2001 for being “decidedly unturkmen-like”, and decreed that men should no longer wear long hair or beards.

And if you are willing to give me Kapamber, how about we all join together to feast on fried chicken and dress in tin foil for this year’s tinniversary. A celebration that will mark my longest stable relationship – other than the family that must love me.

Best friends are hard to come by and a week-long celebration is in order, a chance to reminisce and maybe give me some further inspiration for a much-needed dating manual highlighting the fact that it’s probably best to not alert your prospective beau to your odd interest in tin pot dictators.