26 July
I’m spending the day with Sean. He makes us lunch then we go for a walk along the South Bank and stop off for a cup of tea at The Oxo Tower. This is what I was supposed to do with Jewish on our second date. The one I cancelled because he didn’t call me in time.
I give Sean a man update. He definitely bristles with jealousy but I’m loving the feedback.
On Peter Stringfellow’s latest texts:
‘That’s a breadth of emotion.’ Then mocking a response from me, ‘Keep my arse out of it!’
On The Old Man:
‘A first’, Then mocking his response, “A bird ignoring me after sex.” ‘That can go straight in your SJP column.’
And finally on Jewish’s general slackness:
‘He should be going around like he has the winning lottery ticket.’
He still hasn’t called.
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About
‘When I grow up I’m going to marry a prince, Granny.’
Fast forward 27 years. I’m a hot, successful, kind and affectionate, officially ‘grown up’ girl-about-town. Still in search of The One. It’s New Year’s Eve and I’m in bed. Alone. Tanked up on Valium.
The quest has been active now for the best part of 20 years. I know he’s out there. I just need to find out where and how to find him. Things have got to change.
This is going to be my year. I just know it. So I have decided to document my experiences to amuse more than anything else. In so doing, the creative process may provide some kind of personal enlightenment and help face my demons too. And who knows. The journey may lead me to my prince. And where the chronicles begin.
