By 31 I’d given up on finding a partner. Maybe it was the vibe I was putting out on the dating scene. After all, I assumed being asked on a second date meant I was in a long-term relationship. Even those were few and far between. A housemate of mine at the time said: “Don’t worry, Toddy, you won’t be alone for ever. My wife and I will let you live in our granny flat.” I could barely wait.
Perhaps I had my parents to blame. At that age I tended to blame them for pretty much everything. Mum met Dad at a Chubby Checker concert when she was 16 and they’d been together ever since. By the time they were my age they’d spent more than 120,000 hours together. I’d spent a total of about four hours with various dates. What chance did any prospective suitor of mine have? “Hi, I’m Todd. What are you doing in 40 years’ time?”
