When you’ve lived in London a long time and you’ve finally embraced the local habits — the lifestyle, the culture — you’re likely hoping to settle down, to find a job, a proper job, and potentially, a pure, genuine, incomprehensible, Brit-born and -bred partner.
It is a beautiful warm Sunday afternoon so my partner and I decide to walk to the beach for a swim, heading through town on our way. She is wearing a beautiful airy summer dress over her swimwear which flows effortlessly in the breeze, I am wearing my swim shorts and a t-shirt so that I can get straight into the sea when we find our spot on the warm sand. The sun is beaming in a cloudless pale blue sky giving us a skip in our step and a light feeling in our souls. We happily chat away as we stroll along the busy pavements, chuckling to each other at the holiday makers stopping dead in their tracks in-front of us, oblivious to the ‘people-jam’ that they create as they peruse shop windows for treasures and trinkets to take back home to loved ones; maybe an I love Paignton t-shirt or key-ring, possibly some fudge for grandma. We continue on our way holding hands, exchanging glances and little kisses as we go. We are in love and its plain to see.
Lately I've been noticing the difference when women get rejected, as opposed to men getting rejected. Although the women opinion is really just my own opinion, but I'm always wanting to read other peoples points of views and comments. :)