21 January
I’m at Jessica’s leaving/engagement/30th birthday party at The Loft in Clapham.
Tears keep welling up when I talk to her. I’m going to miss her so much.
I invited my friend from work along too. A gorgeous black girl. I gave her the heads up that one of the guys there likes black girls.
As the night goes on she gets drunker and drunker, throwing herself at him. He noticed her when she got here and I knew he was tapping Jessica for the lowdown. He’s not interested now. I can tell. The harder she tries the further he is repelled. God, it’s so simple. She reminds me of me five years ago.
On the way home I tell her what Jessica had said.
He’ll fuck her but he really likes a French girl. He’s seeing another one as well. Naughty.’
‘I want his email address.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we got on.’
‘Just leave it. You’re better off out. You’ll get your fingers burned.’
‘Well, tell your sister if he wants to see me again… I’m interested.’
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.
