After swapping emails for three days, Cow Girl sent me her mobile number and I rang it, and we agreed that I should drive up to north Wales and meet somewhere. Meeting for a coffee, the usual drill, seemed a bit pathetic to us, so I booked us into a country hotel and spa for the weekend.
I arrived at the hotel first. As I signed on the dotted line at reception, I had a text from her saying she was minutes away. Somewhat apprehensive, I wandered out to the car park to wait. I was apprehensive for two reasons. One, I’d lied about my age on my profile. Forty-five seemed to be the upper age limit specified by most women on this particular dating website, and I’d put that, instead of my real age, which is 53. Would the discrepancy be obvious to her from the moment she saw me, and a great disappointment? Very probably.
My second anxiety was that, although our respective profiles had carried a photograph, mine from the waist up, hers from the neck up, as everybody knows the camera lies. Neither of us really knew exactly what we were going to be sharing a hotel room with for the next two days and nights.
The woman in tight white jeans who leapt nimbly out of the VW Golf to greet me had long, lustrous black hair and the sort of shape you see on supermodels. Long thin limbs, broad shoulders, a hint of muscle definition in the upper arm, not an ounce of fat visible. Fit, in every sense of the word. I was staggered and appalled. Looks-wise, she was in a completely different league from what I was expecting.
She betrayed no sign of disappointment, however.
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