Eesha is probably my second favourite person here. She’s incredibly bright, funny and willing to share office gossip that might have passed me by. It seems the recent appearance of Shelley’s new fringe was not a fashion choice, it was to cover a botched Botox eyebrow lift. I thrive on this shit.
Thirty minutes later Eddie bounds into the office, his extreme-hold hair gel glistening under the lights. I’m sure I see Kieran slowly sink under his desk.
‘Sophie, babe. How are you?’
Annoyed with your presence already, Eddie.
‘Good,’ I reply. ‘Nice to see you! Can I get you a coffee?’
‘No need,’ he replies. ‘I’m actually off the caffeine. Last week I read that caffeine can hinder creativity and I can’t afford to. . .’
I zone out, intermittently making noises of interest and agreement while we walk to the meeting room.
‘So, how can I help you?’
He takes the seat at the end of the table. ‘You know, I’m really not sure about the new logo, babe,’ he informs me. ‘I don’t think it says playful. . . sexy. It’s more. . .’
Appealing to a market who aren’t just looking for hook-ups? Like you asked for?
‘Sure. OK,’ I reply, knowing that this could have been a quick call resulting in emailing over some alternative ideas. ‘We can work on that. Do you have anything in mind?’
‘Hmm, just something more. . .’
‘Frisky? Bolder colours?’
‘Exactly. I think having the right logo is important. Did you know that the Coke logo was designed by the bookkeeper Frank Mason Robinson? Nothing to do with the squash company of course but. . .’
Oh, fucking hell. Just stop.
Ten minutes later, we shake hands goodbye, and I go back to my desk, minus some brain cells. Kieran emerges from under the desk.
‘You were down there a while.’
‘Dropped my pen,’ he informs me.
‘Into the Mariana Trench?’
He smirks as I turn on my laptop and log in.
Chapter 4
Dating apps. My stomach promptly churns. It seems the days of meeting people in a bar and living happily ever after have gone forever. Naomi was the last of that particular breed. She met Philip in a pub across the road from university and they’ve been inseparable ever since. The last guy I dated, two years ago, Harry, sat beside me at a marketing conference in Chelmsford and we bonded over bad coffee and ecommerce. We lasted three months before he decided that he wanted to date someone closer to home. He lived twelve miles from me, drove a Range Rover and an expensive Sirrus bike. I wonder how long it took him to come up with that excuse. Bamboozle her with the distance from point A to B, that’ll work. I wasn’t that upset to be honest. He once spent an hour insisting thatMadame Butterflywas just the name of the opera and not the protagonist. Turns out he’d never seen it.
I remember my mum recounting a time before dating apps when people placed singles adverts in newspapers, without photographs, and you’d reply based on their advert. Couldn’t spell? Didn’t matter, the newspaper would correct all your mistakes. All you had to worry about was whether your ad was placed between the models or the air hostesses. They were everywhere. She was certain some of these women lied, because there was an usually high amount of five-foot-ten, slim-build cabin crew in her hometown of Scarborough. Still, if I’m going to embrace this challenge, I’ll need to take the bull by the horns. Unless that’s an actual activity. Being gored by a three-thousand-pound animal just to change my dating status is a step too far.
The only app I know indepth is Flirt First, given that I’ve just spent two solid weeks staring into its badly designed abyss. I’m reluctant to sign up for this, considering my involvement. What if they find out and make me a damn spokesperson? At least for this one there are no photos required from the get-go. I hate that photos are a requirement. Hair, make-up, decent lighting and cropping out all the bras that have been removed and thrown across the room when I get home from work. I don’t have time for that. Well, I do, but it seems like an arduous task. That T-shirt bra can remain on my couch until I need it again.
By 12 p.m., I’ve narrowed my list down to Tinder, Bumble, Hinge, Plenty of Fish and Match.com. They seem to be the main apps. I was surprised to discover that Match was still a thing, but it seems that it’s still somewhat relevant in 2025.
I abandon my search for half an hour while I go and make some lunch. Poached eggs and toast. I’m an expert at this particular delicacy, which is not always easy to pull off. Surely that’s got to be dating material? Not everyone can poach eggs to perfection so they don’t resemble little floating ghosts. I text Naomi to get her advice.
Why are you asking me? I’ve been married for three hundred years. Would def mention the eggs, though. That screams ‘keeper’.
Back on my laptop, I begin with Tinder,the worst fucking thing to ever happen to me, according to one review. Still, there are some with positive feedback.
I met my wife on here!
Easy to hook up in another city.
