Not entirely sure if we're 'broken up' or 'on a break' (aren't relationships and all the possible labels confusing?!), I decided to make the most of my freedom by once again casting myself shamelessly out into the ocean and becoming one of those fish of whom there are (apparently) plenty. I began by signing up to the local Science Museum Singles' Night. Imagine! A room full of intelligent, well-bred, quirky young men, all vying for my attention and the opportunity to impart their scientific knowledge and views upon me in the light-hearted atmosphere of scientific game-playing. If there's any chemistry to be found, surely this will be the place?!
I joined the queue in great hope and anticipation, yet within moments of entering had almost all hopes of finding Mr Right dashed. That horrible feeling of everybody-here-knows-something-except-me flushed over me as I realised that I was - by far - the youngest attendee here. At least half of the men I could see were old enough to be my father. After dipping into the toilets to ask my reflection what on earth I was doing here and receiving only a smiling shrug in reply, I decided to make the most of it and jolly well enjoy myself.
The evening began - according to the strict timetable - with Mingling. So armed with my charm and my smile, mingle I did. Looking desperately around the room for even a sniff of an appropriate suitor, my eyes were met by those of another 'youngster' clearly as bewildered by me. We honed in on each other and I asked if he could recommend any of the activities. He - Simon - directed me to a reactions testing board and asked if I wanted to play collaboratively or competitively. Anyone who knows me will not need telling which I chose!
After this and similar activities, around which all 100 participants revolved (with Simon becoming less of a companion and more of a well-trained dog-at-heel), I had deduced that despite being the most appropriate prospect in the room on account of a) his age, and b) his level of attractiveness, Simon was not the man for me. His pallor suggested weekends in playing computer games (not the hiking and adventuring for which I had hoped), and the dismay I felt at having beat him at a) the jump height competition, b) the 10m sprint race, c) the rowing machine race, and d) the reactions test, the only thing that could save him now was a side-splitting sense of humour and an impossibly large penis.
The evening was made worthwhile following a very interesting show in the planetarium and a delicious curry, during which I gained two new conversational companions, Charlie (60-ish) and Peter (40-ish, whom we all concurred looked like Martin Clunes). I surprised myself by coming up with my fair share of answers in the After Dinner Quiz (thank goodness I've read Dickens!) and thoroughly enjoyed the anthropological philosophies that Charlie had to offer regarding how men and women choose their mate. After having discussed travel and my plans to venture to Mongolia (that's not even in here for humour), Charlie became the first successful man to obtain my contact details, after promising to send me DVDs of Kate Humble in Mongolia.
After having given Peter a lift home (I was overcome with goodwill on overhearing him planning to call for a taxi and realising he lived on my way anyway) - and declining the offer to extend the evening in a bar with him - I returned home to find a rather charming email from Charlie:
"Hadn't been expecting to find myself seated next to someone whom I would happily volunteer to be her sherpa while she traverses the Mongolian plains unencumbered with a heavy rucksac and, more importantly, with such a lovely sparkle in her eyes."
Bless.
