I forget I was supposed to marry this year. Although sometimes, when I am thinking about something else entirely – Brexit, stamp duty, whether to pick up some eggs – I catch myself twisting the spot on my finger where my engagement ring sat.
A habit quickly acquired, harder shed. In those moments, I contemplate calling him, but decide not to torture myself.I make half-hearted efforts to rejoin Tinder.
My heart is not in it but my libido is. I’m surprised this time to find, among the surfers and students, that city boys, coders and developers have appeared.
Perhaps, like me, they’ve used lockdown to flee London, realising working from home is better with a sea view.I hit a sweet spot for mid-40s divorcees, returning to love.