I was quite serious when I told a friend yesterday I wished Jane Austen could pick my dates.
To cut a long story short I’ll sum up my 23 year dating history by simply saying: I have poor judgement in men. Really poor judgement. Abysmal. Imagine a stockmarket investor circa 1979 saying to their broker, “This Steve Jobs character obviously has no business sense, who on earth names their company Apple? For my money the future of information technology is in the Betamax!” Yes that’s me, romance’s equivalent of the Betamax investor.
