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31-May-2016 22:11

As the ancient Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan is represented by a prickly pear on which a snake-wrestling eagle perches majestic, so Surbiton’s glyph, going by title alone, should be a bowl of towny soup going cold, with Waterloo choo-choos and Pooterish commuters drowning in the gloop.But it just goes to show: don’t judge an area formerly within the County of Surrey by its moniker.Before long, we were joined by Janet, our third stooge, who wafted in out of the cold looking like she might be naked under her snow coat. My nanna had died the day before, but I figured she would’ve wanted me to find love, even if I didn’t.

just moderately,” he confessed with a shy smile in the last thirty seconds.

She had two kittens, and a fiancée she’d met on the internet. Your dress is going to be boil-in-the-bag,” I whispered to Rhi, bridesmaid-in-chief. My first date was a Kenyan called Nigel who did something with chemicals. ” I back-pedalled, mentioning the name and the close-knit family, even though I knew no insult had been levied. ” All the men seemed to live in Southey places I’d never heard of with “Thames” in the title.

They were getting married in August, in Tuscany, and already lived in Surbiton. Rhi nodded, eyes closed, placing her chin on the table like a dejected spaniel. Since booking, I’d been agonizing over what my tactic would be for the dates, what role I would play – because, of course, I couldn’t be myself: there was just too much to hide. I was almost going to add that I had a penchant for Jewish men, despite having sworn no more after Zev and the whole “I left my heart in San Francisco” debacle (on the corner of Oak and Schrader, to be precise – I am the only Englishwoman who can boast of having her heart broken on both the East and West Coasts of the US), but I threw down my spade in time. For that reason alone it would never work; my Oyster was already in the red, and I’m a dyed-in-the-jeggings Northerner. He looked like the late, great John Candy; so imagine my surprise when he told me he ran marathons. Jim had a great nose, and told me he’d spent Christmas alone, in Whitby.

But, under pressure, I found myself employing an unforeseen tactic: taking charge and firing queries at the dates in quick succession so they couldn’t get a question in edgeways. Daniel said he had a close-knit family that lived nearby: “Are you Jewish? My “gaff”, however, provided a handy opener for all subsequent dates, saving me from having to dip into the ice-breakers provided on the bottom of our scorecards (What is your biggest pet peeve? He also said he wrote comedy scripts, so perhaps he was pulling my leg. I drifted off as he talked, and imagined Jim walking down a solitary beach, collar upturned, looking soulfully out to sea.

Nige was nice enough, but when the Glaxo Smith Kline building in Brentford is the main topic of conversation, you know it’s not a goer. Next was a Simon, who I can remember nothing about at all, except that he was called Simon. They came, one by one, like lambs to the slaughter, leaving my table six minutes later shot through with deflections, off to meet Rhi who I hoped would knock them dead with her cheeky Welsh charm. We discussed what fish the town was famous for, and the communist it had once harboured.

just moderately,” he confessed with a shy smile in the last thirty seconds.

She had two kittens, and a fiancée she’d met on the internet. Your dress is going to be boil-in-the-bag,” I whispered to Rhi, bridesmaid-in-chief. My first date was a Kenyan called Nigel who did something with chemicals. ” I back-pedalled, mentioning the name and the close-knit family, even though I knew no insult had been levied. ” All the men seemed to live in Southey places I’d never heard of with “Thames” in the title.

They were getting married in August, in Tuscany, and already lived in Surbiton. Rhi nodded, eyes closed, placing her chin on the table like a dejected spaniel. Since booking, I’d been agonizing over what my tactic would be for the dates, what role I would play – because, of course, I couldn’t be myself: there was just too much to hide. I was almost going to add that I had a penchant for Jewish men, despite having sworn no more after Zev and the whole “I left my heart in San Francisco” debacle (on the corner of Oak and Schrader, to be precise – I am the only Englishwoman who can boast of having her heart broken on both the East and West Coasts of the US), but I threw down my spade in time. For that reason alone it would never work; my Oyster was already in the red, and I’m a dyed-in-the-jeggings Northerner. He looked like the late, great John Candy; so imagine my surprise when he told me he ran marathons. Jim had a great nose, and told me he’d spent Christmas alone, in Whitby.

But, under pressure, I found myself employing an unforeseen tactic: taking charge and firing queries at the dates in quick succession so they couldn’t get a question in edgeways. Daniel said he had a close-knit family that lived nearby: “Are you Jewish? My “gaff”, however, provided a handy opener for all subsequent dates, saving me from having to dip into the ice-breakers provided on the bottom of our scorecards (What is your biggest pet peeve? He also said he wrote comedy scripts, so perhaps he was pulling my leg. I drifted off as he talked, and imagined Jim walking down a solitary beach, collar upturned, looking soulfully out to sea.

Nige was nice enough, but when the Glaxo Smith Kline building in Brentford is the main topic of conversation, you know it’s not a goer. Next was a Simon, who I can remember nothing about at all, except that he was called Simon. They came, one by one, like lambs to the slaughter, leaving my table six minutes later shot through with deflections, off to meet Rhi who I hoped would knock them dead with her cheeky Welsh charm. We discussed what fish the town was famous for, and the communist it had once harboured.

“It’s okay, because what I’ve realized is that I’m just not emotionally available right now,” I said, in my best mock-Californian.