Last weekend with Valentine’s vibrations everywhere, I decided to have a go at internet dating – and then bottled out.
After all, I believe in soulmates, that Dame Destiny will cross your path with the darling of your dreams.
Eee, I’m such a little fibber. Because many years ago I did join a local dating agency. The agency enthused that the ‘date’ was tall, dark and handsome and a merchant seaman.
As I’d been a stewardess on deep-sea liners, I thought goodie, we’ll have shared interests.
Well, he looked as described.So to break the ice, I chatted on about South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and more.
Then I asked about his worldwide travels. He replied: ‘I’ve worked 10 years on the Gosport Ferry’.
Date number two was descibed as educated, witty and well-heeled. He told corny jokes and droned on about his assets all evening.
He left messages on my answerphone for days. A girliepal was visiting when my new mobile rang, and it was him I fobbed him off, put the phone down, and then, as us Bodacious Brit Babes do, slagged him off to my mate.
My landline rang, and as I answered, a voice said ‘In future Miss James before you run somebody down, I suggest you turn your mobile OFF first’.
Date number three sounded great fun. He described himself as young in attitude and looks.
He was weedy, the collar of his coat was filthy, and he was full of himself. He’d told me earlier in the ‘date’ that his wife of 30 years had died, so he’d decided to join a dating agency.
I enquired when his wife had died, assuming a year or so ago.
He answered chirpily ‘Last month, she was eating her dinner, fell face flat into her food, and was dead’.
Eventually I met the stud muffin. Remember him?
As a Geriatic Bimbo I occasionally get chatted up.
And it’s been predicted that I meet ‘the love of my life’ lovebug this year. Watch this space.