My ideal . . . way to meet The One


I was in my bedroom the other day, trying to make myself cry while I looked in the mirror. No matter how many beloved childhood pets or nice dead people I recalled, the tears would not come. My sunny exterior and wintry heart would not allow them. Dry eyed, I began instead to imagine the ideal place to meet The One.

By The One, I don’t mean Satan. I mean a buddy for life, an ally in this crazy old world, one face that lights when it nears you. Someone to say, once and for all, whether to make lasagne or shepherd’s pie with the defrosted mince. It’s a romantic notion, I know. Sure aren’t I giggling and blushing even as I write this? I am, so much so that everyone in the library is staring at me, although that could be because this typewriter is so loud.

The One! Where are they? Like a missing kitten, they are usually somewhere close by, fast asleep. So, search your immediate surroundings. Put on your heart-shaped sunglasses and browse through your neighbours, colleagues and distant cousins for potential honeys.

Have a good tramp around your locality, I mean that. Remember, it’s never been easy to find love. I recently uncovered a Stanley Donen documentary about the dating scene in Oregon in the 1850s.

It follows the seven Pontipee brothers, a family of backwoodsmen with hearts of gold, as they try to secure a bride for themselves. The menfolk have baths, stop their brawling, build a barn and do a lot of tap-dancing, all to impress the womenfolk. Nothing works. Eventually they simply kidnap the ones they like and hope for the best. A moving piece of film-making.

Romantic comedies teach us that we usually meet The One in an adorable way. Perhaps we will, in a moment of distraction, lock our bikes together. As we stoop to unlock them, we bang our heads. After we come out of our respective comas, we get a mortgage together. Adorable! In my business (show business) that is what’s known as a “meet-cute”. What follows is my dream meet-cute. If you’re a big fat business man eating lunch alone in an Italian restaurant, grab hold of the tablecloth’s hem. You’ll need it to dab your eyes, because this is a real tear jerker. Here goes . . .

I’m a gentle, clever vet with an even complexion. I wear glasses, with my hair in a bun. Men go loco for me but I don’t even notice – I’m too busy with my pack of bockety dogs. I have seven dogs. Each dog has just three legs – that is how nice I am. One day, a man walks into my surgery with a cute little lurcher. The lurcher only has only two legs. I count them aloud and look at his owner, dazzled. My hair tumbles down and my glasses smash on the ground, shocking a chubby hamster out of his hiccups. I have met The One.