The sparks flew between me and the man selling saucepans in Deptford Market. He offered to let me drink my polystyrene cup of tea in the passenger seat of his car and we sat in the dark in tense silence. Eventually, I made a joke about sitting in his pop-up restaurant and, with the ice broken, we jumped into the back seat of his car and indulged in some heavy petting.
Later when I read an article exposing the man as an inveterate seducer of shoppers, I hardly minded. Even if it wasn’t special between us, it had been thoroughly enjoyable.
This singles holiday was a hideous experience. I seemed to be the only person not willing to take part in an ‘armpit beauty pageant’ during which everyone had to present their armpit to the audience while giving a rousing speech.