As break-ups go, mine wasn’t dramatic: after three fairly happy years with my girlfriend, I’d realised that she wasn’t the one, so the relationship ended. I was 30, and in eight years had been single for a total of six months.
The next day my friend Giles ordered me not to get a girlfriend for the next year, because I was too soft and fell in love too easily. If I wasn’t careful, I’d end up with one before I was ready, thus laying the foundations for yet another painful break-up. What I needed, said Giles, was to meet plenty of new girls before getting involved with one. With his advice in mind, dating began to feel very different; I started to analyse it in a way I never had before.
Then, in an outrageous stroke of luck, I was asked to write a newspaper dating column, which gave me the opportunity to poke my nose into other people’s romantic business. Over two years of writing it I heard stories of dates of all shapes and sizes. Some made me laugh and some made me blush, while others left me speechless.
Two years on, just when I’d given up on the idea of meeting anyone myself, a girl arrived in my life unexpectedly. Her name is Charlotte and she stayed. Meeting her made me understand how, when and why a guy meets someone special.
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