It’s goodbye from me... (From Daily Echo)

It’s goodbye from me...

8:55am Wednesday 6th July 2011 in Single in the City By Simon Carr, Eastleigh Chief Reporter

Simon is looking forward to the beach life in Cyprus

BY the time you read this, I’ll be gone.

To be more specific – and less dramatic – I will have left my Hampshire home and be jetting off to start a new life as a deputy news editor in the heart of Cyprus.

That’s right, my life is better than yours.

Sadly, this means a farewell to Eastleigh, where I worked as chief reporter, and, of course, my beloved Single in the City.

During the last three and a half years, I have been waxed, jumped out of a plane, and dressed up as a clown in an attempt to meet women and pass on my experiences.

I have also found myself reflecting on issues such as the perils of casual texts, internet dating, and introducing a new partner to established friends.

These have lead to several amazing experiences, numerous girlfriends and countless rejections – though even on a terrible date I have often found myself chuckling at the amusing copy it will make.

My award-winning column now gets more than 20,000 hits a month online and is read by the tens of thousands of readers who take their Daily Echo in paper form.

It continues to attract much reaction, often from a small, yet furious, splinter group.

Sometimes, my article has written itself due to an experience I have had – such as speed-dating, dog-walking or a trip to France. Sometimes, it has been inspired by items of local or national interest, such as snow, the royal wedding and super injunctions.

I knew my sign-off piece would be easy enough: a round-up, a goodbye and an open letter of apology to the women of Hampshire.

However, I had an odd moment of singles closure myself this week.

Many of my columns have referenced ‘the one that got away’. Several lovelies have slipped though my fingers, but one girl in particular causes a twinge of pain whenever I think of her.

Having drifted apart and not spoken for several years, I had assumed I would just have to learn to live with my emotional problem.

We had met in Wales and she moved to Manchester just before I moved to Southampton, so obviously we bumped into each other in London. I had just unwittingly walked past her at King’s Cross train station when I heard someone calling my name – a bit like Brief Encounter.

I had hoped we would meet in more glamorous surroundings, like a yoghurt advert.

Sadly, I was drenched in rain water and the view of dingy takeaways was marred only by a procession of passing prostitutes.

However, we went for a coffee and she told me how happily married she was.

I tried to tell her she didn’t need to hide the shattered remains of her broken relationship from me, but no avail.

After an hour, we left.

I held the door open, partly out of chivalry and partly to catch one last glimpse of her perfect bottom as it disappeared into the distance.

It reminded me of the scene in Love Actually where Andrew Lincoln bothers Keira Knightley with a series of flash cards, only less rubbish.

Bye.