marriage

Solitude is good for you, loneliness is not

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IMG_7519No matter what I’m doing, where I am, or who I’m with, I’m always conscious of the next time that I’ll get to be on my own. It doesn’t matter how much fun I’m having, the knowledge is always there, like a security blanket I never thought I’d need.

For me, solitude is as important as breakfast. I need a strong dose of it everyday to help me stay upright. Partly because I have social anxiety, so get-togethers can be a bit exhausting, but also because I’m 30 years old and this is what it’s like to be a grown up – we love other people’s company but we enjoy our own just as much.

Sometimes I wonder if I look forward to a social interaction being over as much as I do the event itself. I feel a great sense of achievement when I’ve been out and had a great time – when I’ve been to a party and stopped noticing whether I’m enjoying it or not because I just am. I love coming home knowing I’ve done some seriously good socialising and then feeling free to enjoy a spot of solitude because I’ve earnt it.

Time alone hasn’t always felt so precious, though. I’ve written before about how we all have to learn to love our own company. When I was at university, my friend Emma and I would hang out – sometimes in lectures, often at her house, mostly in Primark – and then she’d disappear off for an afternoon nap to prepare for whatever evening activity we had planned. She needed a rest and some shut-eye before further fun could commence.

But I didn’t need this break. We still laugh now about how I’d say “If you need me, I’ll be at home, lying down with my eyes shut,” because I wanted to join in but I just couldn’t nap. (I still can’t, actually, unless I’ve had an alcoholic drink, in which case NIGHT NIGHT.) I didn’t know what to do with the time. I was bored on my own, I’d have to go and buy a magazine to entertain myself. I’d will the time away until somebody was free to come and play with me.

And yet now I crave that time. Modern life demands a lot from us. We work, we go out, and we’re all constantly in touch with each other via phones and emails and apps I sometimes wish had never been invented. If a colleague says they have no plans for the weekend, you can hear the office groan with envy at their freedom, everybody else’s diaries gasping for a gap to pop a wash on, do the weeding, or just lie down.

IMG_6523It’s hard to keep going non-stop for days on end. We need time when we don’t have to think about making the right facial expression or saying the right thing. A bit of space to think it all over, or to think about nothing; to be alive but hardly moving. I like to have a bath and do a face mask. I like to watch Friends episodes I’ve seen so many times that it feels like some of the storylines actually happened to me. And I like to go to bed without having to set an alarm because – for once – nobody is expecting me to be anywhere the next day.

I say all of this mindful that I can enjoy occasional solitude because it’s a treat, not a constant. I’m not lonely. Leon will be home again in a few hours, all being well. I have dates in the diary to see my friends and family soon which I’m looking forward to. Without these things it would be a different story. It is for so many people. The joy of solitude is not to be taken for granted because it’s only a pleasure when it’s a break from the norm.

The realisation hit me hard after we got married that even forever has an end point, that we’d signed up to be each other’s world and that we were relying on each other for company for the rest of our lives. I’ve had to force myself not to worry about it all the time, but I try to hold this knowledge close when I’m frustrated to find the fridge door has been left ajar, or that a world of grated cheese has mysteriously appeared on the kitchen worktop after somebody has come home from the pub. I try to think – what does it even matter? A love of cheese was all I ever wanted in a man. We can buy more. I’m just glad you’re home.

Like everything in life, it’s all about balance. I’ve spent today alone. I made a bacon sandwich and set the smoke alarm off. I listened to Hugh Bonneville’s Desert Island Discs and cried twice, as is standard for an episode of D.I.D. I saw for myself what it means when a cat starts digging a small hole in your back garden (no, it is not treasure they’re planning to bury). And I sat outside and wrote this.

But tomorrow I’ll be in company again and I wouldn’t have it any other way. What’s important is to know yourself well enough to build in what you need, and to try not to budge if anyone suggests that you do otherwise. You can feel it in your bones when you need a rest. Look in the mirror and your eyes will beg you not to leave the house, to stop just for a little while.

I am grateful for a life that is busy enough for a spot of alone time to feel like a treat. Like all luxuries, a life filled with solitude just wouldn’t be right, but a regular dose will do wonders for your health.

The biggest risk to your relationship right now: That you just can’t be arsed

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20151112_132817I know, I know – you’re tired.

If we didn’t have to go to work or cook food or do washing then we’d have all the energy in the world for fun and frivolity, 24 hours a day.

It’s why the start of relationships are so amazing. You don’t just eat, you have dinner out together in restaurants by candlelight. You don’t just cook, you make them a meal that features more than one course, more than one recipe book, and you leave the washing up until the morning. And you just don’t do laundry. You buy new clothes. You’re dating, you haven’t got time for fabric softener.

But long term relationships are different. You go from living separate lives that coincide on assigned dates and times for no other reason than to have fun, to sharing a home, where you learn how to live real life side by side.

And inevitably after years as a couple you don’t get to just conserve all of your energy for parties and date nights and giggling at how you each pronounce words. You have to live.

You have to do the weekly shop, clean the fridge, sort your post into piles: to file, to shred, to recycle, to return to sender for the billionth time – no, Mrs Richards does. not. live. here. To do all the things that make a house a home.

Rather than big romantic gestures, you show a daily interest. You talk about his day, you recount yours, you tackle the big questions of the week – what are you doing with your life? How much longer can you realistically live in this house? How long do you need to defrost mince before you can eat it? What does Google say? Does it smell alright?

And though this is all the most glorious fun in its own way, it can also make you unintentionally lazy. You can get so caught up in the day to day, and so knackered by it all, that if you’re not careful you forget to make some time just to enjoy yourselves.

I’m conscious all the time of getting too comfortable, of letting myself get away with just not being arsed to go outside because it’s cold and because we spent four years paying off this DFS sofa so shouldn’t I be allowed to sit on it?!

Of course, sometimes you just need to do nothing. Hell, I’m all in favour of diarising that. And there is nobody better to do nothing with than a person who loves you even though your ideal night in involves cheese puffs, stretchy trousers, and falling asleep in front of Coronation Street.

But other times, you need to get out there and give your relationship the attention it deserves. Go eat burgers, drink cocktails, see a film and chat about it all the way home. You’ll never regret the quality time you’ve spent together – only that you didn’t have more of it.

I’ve written this all down because it dawned on me this week how very sad it would be for my energy levels to be the reason why the best element of my life started to fail.

Because it would be so horribly ironic if the thing about which I feel the most enthused, the most passionate, and for which I would leave all of the washing up on the side forever if that’s what it took, (*shudders*) were to crumble because I couldn’t be arsed to put the effort in.

And because learning these things and then writing them down is exactly what blogs are for.

Every now and then we all need a little reminder to put our time into what really matters – because hey, guess what, whatever happens, the sofa will still be there for us when we get home.

I guess we’d all best pop our coats on then, hadn’t we?

 

Marriage, sometimes

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Sometimes he’ll accidentally throw a loo roll down the toilet and she won’t understand what…how did you… they’re so expens…just pop it in the bin.

Sometimes, a couple of days later, she’ll hurl a sock in the toilet instead of the laundry basket, and they’ll call it even.

Sometimes she’ll break her ‘no food in the bedroom’ rule and devour a whole bag of Maltesers on top of the duvet.

Sometimes he’ll find the empty red packet on the floor and resist the temptation to start a discussion about double standards.

Sometimes he’ll go out drinking so much ahead of her 30th birthday that he has to leave her party early to go home and nurse his aching throat.

Sometimes she’ll keep partying, force him out of bed at 3am to let her in the house, and they’ll call that even too.

Sometimes he’ll buy her a new fancy laptop to prove how much he believes in her writing (and to make her weekly exclamations of MY F***ING LAPTOP IS RUINING MY LIFE stop).

Sometimes she’ll cry when she remembers that he did that.

Sometimes she’ll fall asleep on the sofa until 4 o’clock in the morning, after promising she would go to bed in a minute.

Sometimes he’ll come downstairs to get her, and decide not to let the tirade of abuse that comes when he disturbs her hurt his feelings.

Sometimes she’ll get sunstroke, or food poisoning, or eat something that’s too ‘wheaty’ and turn into a quivering, vomiting, moany mess.

Sometimes he’ll use a VERY FIRM tone to tell her that if she doesn’t drink all of the water she needs to rehydrate then she’ll have to go to hospital (and then explain later that that’s just what he sounds like when he’s scared).

Sometimes he’ll show her a clip of a big kick or some good running that a rugby person did.

Sometimes she’ll make the right face to make him believe that she knows why she should be impressed.

Sometimes she’ll manage to figure out the answer to the 8 out of 10 Cats Does Countdown numbers game within the assigned 30 second period.

Sometimes he’ll look at her like she’s the cleverest person in the world.

Sometimes he’ll suggest going out for sushi instead of cooking food at home.

Sometimes she’ll think – this right here is exactly why I married you.

Sometimes he’ll look at her, panicked and say “I am in no way prepared for our anniversary tomorrow. I’m going into town and may be gone for some time.”

Sometimes she’ll look at him and think – it doesn’t matter. I’d still choose you.

Every single time.

Four years after moving day

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20150705_184939I was the hungriest I’d ever been.

You’re always your hungriest at the time, aren’t you. Until the next time when you think, no, this is definitely the one. This time I’m proper starving. That last time was nothing compared to this.

But this was the real deal.

Moving house will do that to you, what with all the packing and piling and dragging of your stuff. It’s enough to make you kiss the cheese and beans on toast that you sit on the floor of your new house at 9 o’clock at night to consume from the only plate you could find. To this day I’m confident: that is the greatest meal I have ever had.

When I walked through the door that September morning four years ago, I went over to the kitchen window of the home I suddenly owned, leant against the washing machine I was yet to be acquainted with and had a little cry.

I doubt there’s ever been a house purchase made that wasn’t loaded with emotion. A shopping trip that significant has to mean something – that a divorcee needs a new address, that a growing family needs more space, or, as in our case, that a young couple was being given their very own one bed, two bathroom step on the property ladder. If that room ratio alone doesn’t bring a tear to your eye, I don’t know what will.

I’d cried when we’d walked out of our solicitor’s office too, after signing all the papers that said that the little maisonette with the spiral staircase was soon to be ours (and also something about ‘conservation areas’ that I still don’t quite understand. Perhaps David Attenborough will pop round at some point? I do hope so.).

“Don’t you realise what we’ve just done?” I said. “We basically just got married.”

My husband wasn’t my husband yet at the time. He was my boyfriend who I’d been going out with for a solid, sensible six years before committing to co-owning any bricks. We’d rented some together – sure – but owning them meant we’d have to paint the walls, and change the lightbulbs, and we’d never really had to do that before (we just moved out if they went. It was easier). There was so much to come.

With a new house comes so many firsts. The first bath in the new tub, the first flower planted in the garden, and the first ‘discussion’ about how, in this house, we replace a toilet roll when it runs out, because we’re not savages now, are we.

And then things get more advanced, more complicated – rooms get renovated, floors get replaced, and tempers get tested like they never have before. What we know is that I have one and that when workmen are late it is short, very indeed.

But this is all part of the game we’re so privileged to play. And four years on with the walls intact and the roof still in place and a pair of sofas that we’re now just days from owning outright (we’ll take it from here DFS, thanks very much), it seems only right to charge a glass –

To the next chapter in this home of ours – to the next Christmas, the next Spring, and the next battle with a complicated bulb. And to that very first night in our very humble abode – with the floor as our chair, and the floor as our table, as we ate the greatest meal we’ve ever had and looked ahead to everything we’d no idea was to come.

 

45 Years, September and Chance

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IMG_4418If you’ve read anything about the film 45 Years, you will know that it is most definitely not a comedy.

Charlotte Rampling and Tom Courtenay play a couple called Kate and Geoff Mercer who are preparing for their 45th wedding anniversary party. A week before the event, they find out that the body of Geoff’s first love has been found in the ice of the Swiss Alps, 50 years after she fell there. The film is about the impact that this news and everything that came before has on their marriage.

The film is excellent, I very much recommend it. Though I suggest doing what we did and watching it in the middle of the day when there are many hours left in which to feel happy. Like I said, it’s definitely not Wayne’s World.

I love going to the cinema. I love how a great film can leave you with so many thoughts to mull over, and how somebody else’s creation can reflect things that you think and feel about your own life.

It struck me that, more than anything, this is a film about chance. About people you happen to meet, the relationships you have, and the direction your life goes in as a result.

In a week’s time, aside from being September (hope you’re getting excited about Christmas, chums, because it’s COMING) we reach our second wedding anniversary and in a few more weeks it’ll be TEN YEARS since this little duo of ours got off the ground. A month of Prosecco, cards and Leon saying “I really think one anniversary is more than enough” lies ahead. I can’t wait.

IMG_20150830_203533Like so many things in life – relationships, friendships, chance samplings of a new kind of cheese – we could so easily not have happened. The night we met I really wasn’t in the mood to go out, and even less so to meet some new dude. But I did and now here we are. It’s good to have at least one good decision under your belt to help reduce the volume amongst all the horrendous ones when they wake you in the night to remind you what a dickhead you’re capable of being.

And, as a result of this almost near miss, when we got married eight years later our first dance was to Pulp’s Something Changed. Because besides being what Taylor Swift would call a ‘sick beat’, its lyrics perfectly sum up just how much of life comes down to chance meetings, and how one life-altering encounter can all of a sudden make all the other ifs, buts and maybes pale into insignificance. (And also because Jarvis Cocker is from Sheffield, which is where we met, and my plans are nothing if not neat and tidy.) Strap in.

When we woke up that morning we had no way of knowing

That in a matter of hours we’d change the way we were going

Where would I be now, where would I be now if we’d never met?

Would I be singing this song to someone else instead?

I don’t know but like you just said

Something changed.

That right there was reason #487 for me to cry all the way through our wedding (and any time I’ve listened to it since, to be honest). I think a lot about how different things could have been but then I stop because they’re not, are they? Because something changed. It sounds simple when you write it down. That Jarvis really knows what he’s doing.

It’s amazing where a good film can send your mind. And I know I’m going to be thinking about 45 Years for a long time to come.

About how striking Charlotte Rampling is. About how sad Geoff made me feel. About how much it made me want a car and a dog (I live in London, these aren’t things people just have). About what I’d have done in Kate’s situation – or in Geoff’s – if a previous love suddenly came back to haunt us. And about the huge role that chance continues to play in all our lives.

If you see it, and I very much recommend that you do, I’d be very interested to know what you think.

You’re on holiday. And it’s OK.

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You're on holiday. And it's OK.

It’s OK to wear that dress that’s a bit too short because you’ve spent most of the day practically naked in a bikini anyway and what of it.

It’s OK to promise you’ll get out of the sun after just one more chapter of Amy Poehler’s Yes Please! (and maybe another one after that…)

It’s OK to have Pringles as an afternoon snack even if they’re in no way representative of Malta’s delicious cuisine because you promise you’ll still have room for some of that later.

It’s OK to look at your husband and think that one of the things you love most about your marriage is your pre-holiday airport routine of food, drinks, and panic shopping.

It’s OK to tell people about the sparkly flip flops you bought before your flight for a FIVER like it’s a great anecdote. You know why? Because it IS a great anecdote.

It’s OK to have a few days when you don’t email anyone. In fact, it’s more than OK, it’s DREAMY.

It’s OK that you took so many photographs of the little muffins that were waiting for you when you got to your hotel room because it’s possible that they are the most beautiful thing you will ever see.

It’s OK to sweat in front of your friends. It’s 34 degrees, you have absolutely no choice.

It’s OK to paint your nails by the poolside because that is an excellent use of time, and in this heat those babies will dry in seconds.

It’s OK to look at the family and friends you’re away with and think how incredibly lucky you are to have these people in your life because you are and don’t you dare forget it.

It’s OK that you bought the insect repellent that is slightly scented because it was cheaper. You can use the money you saved you buy bite cream because guess what, turns out the little bastards quite like the taste of it.

It’s OK to start thinking about your next holiday whilst you’re still on this one, because THIS. IS. THE. LIFE.

It’s OK that you’re appalling at volleyball. You have other skills, it’s just a shame that none of them are of any use at the beach.

It’s OK to forget that euros are real and to spend them like they’re Monopoly money.

It’s OK to let a holiday remind you how important it is that you make sure you do what you want with your life. Alongside pina colada consumption, that is exactly what these trips are for.

It’s OK that despite intending to have a few days without any screens you just had to sit down and write this. You just can’t help yourself, can you. But that’s OK.

10 unspoken promises behind every happy relationship

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Wedding vows that go without saying

1. I promise that if you stay out later than you said you would, I will not be a dick about it because I am your wife and not your mother (as long as you text me to let me know you’re alive because you know how I worry).

2. I promise not to get cross if you lose your keys because one day I will lose mine and I will NOT thank you for your backchat.

3. I promise to take all anecdotes about run-ins you’ve had with customer service representatives seriously.

4. I promise to tell you if an outfit makes you look bad, mad, or like you’ve accidentally left the house wearing your pyjamas because it is my duty to play a full and active role in keeping this couple looking its most handsome.

5. I promise to let you use my shoulder as a pillow whenever and wherever you need to rest your head (although comments about it being too boney to really get comfortable will not be welcomed).

6. I promise that if we are ever in a social situation and I notice that you have food on your face or in your teeth, I will do whatever it takes to let you know – mime, text messaging, writing in the sky, anything.

7. I promise that if you say TAKEAWAY? I’ll say YES.

8. I promise to always be available to help you rationalise not going to the gym so that you can stay in to eat sweets and watch Ace Ventura/Wayne’s World/Beethoven’s 2nd. In this endeavour, you will always have my unwavering support.

9. I promise to remember that the person you become when our Wi-Fi connection is broken is not who you really are.

10. I promise to reassure you when you wake in the middle of the night, sit up, and start talking to yourself about how you’re going to FIGHT EVERYONE as soon as you work out how to take off this costume made of jelly, that no you’re not, you’re just dreaming, now let’s lie down and go back to sleep.

5 signs that the spark has not gone from your relationship

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20150609_203255This piece was originally published on The Huffington Post.

1. You resist the temptation to send each other passive aggressive messages
When you get home, ready to make a complex spaghetti bolognese, featuring pancetta, mince, carrots and celery (yes, celery. Nigel Slater knows what he’s talking about) and you discover that the pancetta has gone from the fridge, you resist the urge to send a message to your other half to ask “Have you eaten the last of the pancetta?!” because a) If you start sending messages like that, where will it end? Will you start sending emails saying ‘What do we do when we finish a toilet roll? WE REPLACE IT’ or leaving hand written limericks on the fridge that read: ‘There once was a man from THIS FLAT, who ate the last Muller Crunch Corner and I’m really quite ANGRY ABOUT THAT’ (I didn’t say it would be a good limerick)? You really don’t want to be that guy. And b) because if you didn’t eat it then clearly the answer to that question is yes. 

2. You struggle to throw away dating mementos
You’re rooting through your bag of an evening commute, searching for a tissue like the 29-going-on-79-year-old that you are, and you stumble across the cinema ticket from the night the pair of you went to see Still Alice (and now you realise why you’re struggling to find a tissue – you used up every last one whilst watching that). And in the interests of a tidy handbag and minimal cries of “OH FOR GOODNESS SAKE, WHY CAN I NEVER FIND MY KEYS IN HERE?! THIS BAG IS LIKE A RABBIT WARREN FILLED WITH OLD PAPER!” then it should go in the bin. But you pause because that was a particularly nice evening. You wore something leopard print, as you do when you’re making a real effort, he was forced to admit upon tasting your main course that it was indeed spicy enough to be deemed a real curry, and not just a ‘bowl of meat and creamy sauce’ like he’d assumed, and the film was outstanding. Nights like that don’t come around every day of the week and you find it hard to put any evidence of it in the bin, even if it does make your handbag unmanageable.

3. Sometimes, for a treat, you sit on the same sofa
When you first start dating, not only do you insist on always sitting on the same chair, you will sit as much of yourself on top of the other person as you can. But then time starts to pass and with that comes the realisation that, actually, the most comfortable way to sit is alone, and with as much room to stretch out as possible. But sometimes, perhaps if it’s somebody’s birthday or a bank holiday weekend, or you’ve got a particularly good box of chocolates that you definitely want get your whole half of; you’ll sit together on the same settee. And it’ll feel like a lovely, if slightly cramped, treat.

4. If they send you a text message, you don’t delete it 
…not that you ever did, of course, it’s just that these days, with all the other ways in which friends and family can get in touch, text messages are generally only ever received from PPI compensation people, or companies who are absolutely determined to give you £2,000 for a car accident you haven’t had (you’d remember something like that, wouldn’t you?) So if you do get one from your other half, it’s extra exciting. Perhaps they’ll ask what you’d like for your tea, or send words of encouragement to help you through a particularly trying day, or maybe they’re writing to compliment you on your excellent choice of attire, regretting that they were so caught up with trying to locate their wallet/tie/other sock this morning to say so. Either way, you’re very pleased to hear from them.

5. Every now and then you wear proper clothes at home
The greatest thing about a night at home is the opportunity to spend it wearing the cosiest items of clothing you can get your hands on. It may not be the kind of attire you’d wear to a pub (unless your toilet broke in the middle of the night and you were left with no other choice than to go there) but you don’t care because you’re just so comfortable. You’ve both got your own set, and wow do you each feel smug when you’re wearing them. But sometimes, when an occasion calls for it, you’ll both pop on an outfit you’d be happy to be seen in outside, if only to remind each other that you do indeed own clothes that don’t include an elasticated waist.

What it’s NOT like to be in a relationship

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You have to ask for permission to go out alone

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Here’s a thing I don’t understand: when people assume that being married or in a long term relationship means that you have to ask for the permission of the other person to go out without them.

I hear it a lot. People asking men if they need to check with ‘the missus’ before they can commit to plans, others wondering how somebody’s husband will ‘feel’ if their wife spends a weekend without them. And too often you hear those in relationships confirming this opinion, making their wives out to be like prison guards, only letting them out for their allotted amount of fresh air, or suggesting that their husbands are so helpless when left alone that there’s a good chance they’ll panic and accidentally eat all the furniture.

In this house we’re pretty clear about what’s not allowed. The rules are:

1. Don’t sleep with anybody else; and

2. Don’t be a dick

That’s pretty much what wedding vows say, but in prettier language. (I do of course have a number of other lower level rules of my own, such as don’t wear shoes in the house, don’t leave crumbs everywhere, and don’t leave lights on in rooms you’re not in, but unfortunately these seem to be seen more as ‘loose guidelines’ than rules. It’s hard to enforce them without being a dick which, as discussed, is against the rules).

But beyond that, the world remains free. We can both go out, we can partake in conversations with other humans, and we can be so bold as to say that we have had fun, despite not having been side by side at the time. As long as everybody is safe and well when they return, and ideally not covered in mud or having purchased a pet tarantula, there’s nothing to worry about. Because, when the above mentioned rules are observed, what harm can a little apart time do?

Perhaps he’ll go the pub with a friend, drink all of the alcohols, come home and smash open a leftover Easter bunny, devour the whole thing and then come to bed having left all the downstairs lights on (and by ‘perhaps’ I mean ‘this is what happened on Thursday’). I’ll admit, it did disrupt my plans to gain a solid seven hours sleep, as well as my intention to consume said bunny myself the following day – and you can work out for yourself how I felt about the lights situation – but it made real no difference to my life or our relationship. I just had to remember to keep my voice down the next morning, and point gently in the direction of the ibuprofen.

It’s important to remember that you marry someone, you don’t hire them. You don’t get to decide what they do and between which hours. There’s certain boundaries of course (once again, see above rules) and I do recommend a joint calendar in the interests of planning your social events, but that’s quite enough. No need to clock in and clock out.

People should give themselves and each other more credit. If you’d rather stay at home than socialise then just say so – or pretend to have a migraine if you’re that embarrassed – but don’t blame your other half for your own desire to stay in with them eating Cheetos.

There is no need to play up to this ludicrous idea that women spend their days guiding their husbands around the world like puppets (How much spare time do you think we have, exactly? With Coronation Street, maintaining my eyebrows and hating total strangers for no apparent reason, I really can’t fit anything else in), and that men expect their lady friends to remain by their side at all times in case they accidentally set themselves on fire.

If that is your situation then, well, I’m very sorry to hear it and I recommend thinking about what you can do to change it, but if you’re just saying it for something to say, then don’t. You’re breaking rule number 2 and I’m sorry but that’s just not allowed.

 

Don’t look too keen: Why dating rules were made to be broken

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Dating rules can be ridiculous.

Leave at least an hour between text messages.
Don’t accidentally point at wedding dresses whilst you’re out together.
Don’t do too much smiling in case they think you’re a psychopath.

Urgh, I’m glad to be out of it.

The rule I always struggled the most with was ‘Don’t look too keen’.

Now, this is not because I’m a crazy person with a body secretly tattooed with the name of every man I’ve ever admired (I’m afraid of needles, thanks very much) but because this rule is actually unfinished. What it should say is: ‘Don’t look too keen unless you’re ABSOLUTELY 100% SURE that they are equally keen on you in which case, do what you like’.

The game goes something like this.

  • Meet someone you like.
  • Appear interested but nonchalant, like a Coronation Street viewer passing the time with an episode of Eastenders. You’re here, you’re looking, but you’ve just got so much else going on.
  • Commence dating. Brush your hair and clean your teeth but don’t let them think it was all for them. There’s a good chance you’d have done that today anyway.
  • Begin to incorporate occasional smiling and physical contact into dates. Maybe even laugh at their jokes but don’t play with your hair. It’ll totally give the game away.
  • Undertake mind reading exercises/ask a couple of their mates if they’ve mentioned you, to confirm that they definitely do like you precisely as much as you like them.
  • Say something encouraging like “You’re nice” or “Those jeans fit you well around the waist” to let them know that actually, yes, you are interested too.
  • Enter balanced, game free relationship. Reply to their text messages when you want and perhaps even answer the phone when they ring you (unless Corrie’s on, obviously).
  • Get married. State just how keen you are in front of everybody you know.
  • Schedule regular occasions on which to demonstrate your deep felt keenness throughout the year, such as anniversaries, birthdays and Pancake Day.
  • Specifically do not appear keen on anybody else at all for the rest of your life, with the following permitted exceptions: David Beckham, Leonard DiCaprio (Romeo and Juliet era preferred) and anybody offering free chocolates, as long as you make sure you get enough free samples for both of you.

It’s an exhausting business. But here’s a thing nobody tells you. That isn’t really the end of it.

If you’re somebody who has worked tirelessly for years to ensure you’re always on the right side of the keenness tracks, taking occasional breaks to kick yourself hard in the shin for accidentally misreading a high-five as a marriage proposal, your guard never quite goes down.

Dating rules were meant to be brokenI think it’s because dating teaches us to be so cautious that when we do let ourselves relax, an alarm bell rings inside our heads and says WOAH WOAH WOAH YOU’RE VULNERABLE! QUICK, DELETE HIS NUMBER AND START PRONOUNCING HIS NAME INCORRECTLY! YOU NEED TO WIN BACK SOME POWER!

It can come up out of the blue. You can be asking an innocent question about the weekend ahead and your options for mutual socialising, and all of a sudden you’re feeling the need to clarify that you were just wondering what they were up to and you don’t even want to hang out with them anyway, and you have so many other options on the table you can hardly wade through them, whilst they look on, baffled.

It can be difficult to shake the dating game off. Of course some elements apply forever – it’s nice to listen to what people have to say instead of just saying “Uhuh” every ten seconds and continuing to look at Twitter, and washing is always a positive activity, but once you’re in a relationship it’s nice just to have a bit of trust and stop all this fannying about it.

The dating game is just that – a game. Sometimes you win – and by win I mean you meet somebody you like and who likes you and that you enjoy spending time together for an appropriate length of time (whether that be forever, or until you realise that you just can’t get past your differing opinions on who made a better Batman), and sometimes you lose, by which I mean that it leaves you wondering whether you should just marry your cat and be done with it.

But when it does work out, you have to just throw the rule book out and admit that you do indeed like another human being. Relationships do make you vulnerable because you can’t enter into one without admitting that actually you are rather keen. Queen Keen of Keen Town, actually, and you don’t care who knows it.

All you can do is try and find yourself in a situation where everybody is as keen as each other so that that never feels like a bad thing. With somebody who also believes that eight is the optimum number of kisses to include at the end of a text message, and who feels just as strongly about the apostrophe as you do, and who agrees that, yes, Pancake Day really is the greatest day of the year.