There is nothing like the singles table at a wedding. Trying not to pop out of my bridesmaids dress I attempt to gage which of the two choices that Holly’s handwritten table cards have assigned next to me, might be more bearable to converse with. Choice number one is ten years old, needs to blow his nose and thinks the wedding should have a Spiderman theme. On my right hand side I listen to the woes of a woman a decade my senior who has just finalised her divorce. “And can you believe it, he even took the dog” she huffs tucking into her parsnips. I nod hello to the two blokes opposite me. One is Chinese and hadn’t been able to understand anything all day while the other one is glued to his blackberry under the table trying to complete a deal of some kind or other. The sixth member of our little eclectic group is a Chemistry professor in his sixties pretending to be in his forties who is peering at my hoisted bosoms rather clumsily. “Hi my name is Andrew, what’s yours?” he asks eagerly. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Andrew Harris ended up sending me a rather lengthy email about how wonderfully perfect for him and stunningly lovely I am….but that his wife has now decided that she is over her “phase”, kicked out her girlfriend and would like to give their relationship another go. And he has agreed for his daughter Marie’s sake. Of course he has. It’s just too bad he couldn’t have made that decision before declaring his undying love to me and crossing my emotional-bridge-of-no-return. Upon receiving his I-love-you-but-can’t-be-with-you (right now) email my heart felt like it was run over by a truck several times in reverse and then hung out to dry in the Siberian tundra somewhere. So I called Holly. Had ice cream. Called Holly again. Had two bottles of wine. Tried to call Holly again but crashed out on the floor…and the next day, sat down and wrote a how-to-get-over-Andrew-Harris list:
- Date, date, date on LoveArts. Oh, and did I say date? Yes, date.
- Throw out all of Andrew’s gifts (yes, even the jewellery box and the French lingerie)
- Buy more ice cream and wine
- Make a list of why Andrew Harris was never really all that wonderful in the first place
Handing my LoveArts account over to Clementine, she has now lined me up with a dozen viable dates on an intense two-week dating mission. And refuses to give me details on any of them until the day before each date. She’s even changed the password on my LoveArts account so I won’t interrupt her project. All I know is none of her choices are apparently anything like Andrew Harris, and in fact, she has avoided anyone unfortunate enough to share his name. “It’s called ‘duty-dating’ Ava” she announces. “Dating to cleanse the soul.” Guess buying a new outfit at Karen Millen won’t do the trick.
“Could I have all the ladies on the dance floor, yes all those lovely sexy ladies please join me now” the wedding DJ announces merrily. It’s throwing-the-wedding-bouquet time and Holly grabs my arm and drags me along. I can’t escape. She places me firmly amongst the barrage of young girls giggling excitedly and winking at their boyfriends knowingly. I shuffle in the back pretending to get ready to leap, jump and kick my way to the prize. I really need the loo but now is clearly not the time. The DJ turns on ABBA’s Dancing Queen and Holly aims at the crowd behind her. The flowers go flying and I politely applaud the ecstatic recipient…and her rather terrified looking other half. Chemistry professor Andrew takes my hand and slips his card in it. “Don’t be a stranger now” he breathes at me.
Dates: Project Clementine – dating to the dozen
Auditions: Performing as fluting floozy at the London fringe – one week to go