tulips bloom like red hearts in the fields and I feel like falling in love. ’For a while, I’d resigned myself to never meeting anyone romantically again.
I’d settled for being Miss Havisham, dying sad and alone, probably to be eaten by my dog, Stringerbelle. I felt I had tried, and failed, at love.
My attempts to get married had ended before they started.My short-lived fling with Alex*, the woman I met in Somerset, evaporated.
I’ve not given much thought to dating since. My old cottage, with its leaks, broken pipes and mould, has kept me busy.My friends in London worry I’ve become a hermit. “You’ll never meet a man if you’re always in your cottage,” Martin worries.
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