John was a Christian, which meant that he danced like a trainee vicar and wanted to take things slowly.
How lovely, I thought. A man who wants to get to know me first. A man who isn't into all that instant kissy-touchy stuff, but instead wants to form a genuine, sincere connection with me. Something rare and meaningful.
At the end of the evening, he said "I'll be back in a second," and nipped outside to get off with someone else.
Finally, I can put my degree in Eng Lit to use. TS Eliot coined the phrase "objective correlative" for those moments in books when complicated emotional traumas are summed up by a single everyday detail. An example could be "As he left, Emma looked out of the window. It began to rain heavily."
I really can't describe my time in Cardiff. But somehow, it's all summed up by the fact that I can't even kiss a Christian.
The next day, John texted to say he felt we had a real bond, and he couldn't wait to see me again. I replied: "You are fabulous. As is the man you got off with."