‘Now we all have a physical type, don’t we? Tall, thin, dark, curvy, blonde, etc. but that’s not what I want you to focus on. I want you to focus on their character traits for now, not their physicality.’
I can see a few of the men slink down into their seats and I don’t find their reaction unreasonable.
‘Relax, fellas, you’ll get to add in the vital stats later,’ Anna informs them with a wink, and they all laugh before resuming a more upright posture. Ugh, they’re so predictable.
‘Now I want you to imagine that the circle is the sun and from it, you’ll draw rays, each one representing a quality you want from a partner. You’ll see examples here: on this ray, I’ve written kindness, on this I’ve written sense of humour, this one says ambition and so on, you get the idea.’
People are already scribbling. What are they writing? I’ve never put much thought into what I want from a partner, yet everyone else seems to have some sort of checklist.
‘Remember, be specific. If you want someone who loves animals or goes to the gym every day or writes poetry, then include it. If it matters to you, it goes on the sunray. You wouldn’t order something from Amazon and just ask for whatever! You’d be specific about your order, so be specific here.’
I look down at my rayless sun. I have no idea what I want from a boyfriend because I don’t bloody want one. Besides, you can’t just invent a frickin’ person. I could write ‘has a library of over four thousand books and lives in a houseboat near a Tesco Express’ but that doesn’t mean he actually exists. This is pointless but I guess could have a little fun with it…
Sponsors children in Africa. All of them.
Is disgustingly wealthy and likely to hand it over in large bundles.
Has siblings with ridiculous names like Beetroot and Windfarm.
Shags like a champion/is actual shagging champion, has many awards.
How is anyone supposed to take this seriously? Everyone wants someone who’s kind and funny, smart but not pompous, warm and loving, but most of all, all anyone wants is someone to watch box sets with.
Time ticks on and I manage to throw a few platitudes onto my sheet of paper. I watch people consider every word they write with such resolve that it makes me a little envious. Hope must be a wonderful thing.
‘How are we all doing?’ Anna asks. She’s spent the last five minutes whispering to Brad. I start to idly wonder if they’re having an affair, for no reason other than it’s more interesting than ordering an imaginary man via sunbeams.
‘Great. Now, hold on to these and work on them during the week. You can make as many versions as you need to before we release them on our last day.’
Release them? Like doves? Like hounds? Like little paper inmates?I’m scared to ask.
‘We’re going to stop for lunch now and resume again at half past one. We have provided a cold buffet for those who would prefer to remain in the main house or hot food is available at reception which you can take to your cabin. Thank you all.’
I have no intention of hanging around to chat, I’m going to be stuck with these people all week. I grab my bag and make for the door with the sole mission of getting back to my cabin to finish off the rest of my breakfast basket.
It’s bright but bitterly cold outside as I trudge back down the hill towards my cabin. I see people with handfuls of finger food strolling off towards the east side of the loch, but I continue north, happily embracing my ‘me’ time.
‘Not in the mingling mood either, I see?’
I turn to see Will a few steps behind me, pulling on a pair of gloves. I wish I’d had the foresight to bring some, my hands are freezing.
‘Not really,’ I reply coolly as he catches up. ‘I just need some respite from all the… well, weirdness.’
‘Likewise,’ he responds. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt like such an outsider in my entire life.’
‘Yup,’ I reply. ‘I think I’m far too rooted in reality to be a viable team player here.’
As he grins, little dimples form in his cheeks which softens his increasingly attractive, chiselled face. He is not well-groomed, unlike most of the other men here, and I have no doubt that he literally rolled out of bed and came straight to the welcome meeting. His salt-and-pepper stubble places him around my age, but the Joy Division T-shirt he’s wearing under his jacket implies that he’s mentally the same age as Charlie.
‘Yeah, I thought you looked a bit bewildered in there,’ he says, nodding. ‘You don’t seem like the type of person who’d go to one of these events.’
‘Why?’ I ask. That insecure feeling I had earlier is now making an unwelcome return. It’s my lack of designer everything, isn’t it? Do I look like I’ve been crowdfunded to come here?
‘I dunno,’ he replies. ‘You just seem too normal.’
For some reason, this feels like the worst compliment anyone has ever been paid.Normal. Unexciting. Ordinary.
‘Well, you don’t look like you belong here either,’ I snap back. ‘Everyone else brushed their hair.’
