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The Modern Ronance

It was the second day of quarantine. Ripped out of my year abroad, I was mid-wallow, looking for something – nay, anything – to take my mind off of my misery. Enter: the swipey swipey game, otherwise known as Tinder. Awash with thoughts of Love is Blind, and furious about a disease cooping me up in my prime, I decided for me this quarantine would be a social experiment. My research question: can you find love in a time of corona? Now, this was not my first rodeo. Scrolling down, the ghosts of Tinder’s past had me doubting my decision to redownload, with a plethora of aired chats, and fruitless attempts to meet up staring me right in the face (by fruitless, meaning me backing out every single time). And yet, I decided to embark on this new adventure, thumbs ablaze. This may sound like a hopeless task. Two metre distancing, one solo walk a day, how on Earth could you start something new? Well, my friends. It happened in a blink. Let’s call him James (jokes because that’s actually his name) – excellent chat, the pedigree of mutual Facebook friends, and good looking to boot. Tinder soon turned to Whatsapp, and all of a sudden my isolation didn’t seem quite so lonesome. But after five days of talking nonstop, the inevitable arises; how the fuck is this going to work? Months of online chat, culminating in one colossal let down? For us, the answer was no. I went on a date with my quaranting. Yes, I am aware of social distancing and lock-down measures; believe me I am extremely careful about corona. So, before everyone berates me, please allow me to explain. Living in the same neighbourhood, we merely timed our daily exercise so we would be in the same park at the same time, and scandalously ended up accidentally (on purpose) bumping into each other. From a two-metre distance, we gave each other a little wave, and had a lovely chat in an empty field. The time was short, and distances never were breached, aside from a sexy elbow bump to say goodbye (genuinely). Although we were interrupted by police patrols, and two very obnoxious peacocks (I know….) for me it was 100% worth it, and has meant that at least for the time being, our ting is continuing quite nicely indeed. I’m not saying that this is necessarily a good thing - please do as Boris says and not as I do – but our dear Ms Peachey asked for the story to be told. So, there it is, and hopefully it’ll be worth it! If not, I’ve got all the guidance I need right here:

By One Cheeky Little Horn Bag

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