Fifty seven, and I have read what this board assumes about me

A man wrote to me last month to say he admired my confidence, which is the sort of thing people say to a woman of fifty seven when what they mean is that they are surprised she is here. I thanked him. He then asked whether my husband was still able to, and I decided that was quite enough of that.

Eleven years of this, the Stockport side, married thirty one years to a man who thinks the whole business is funny and who has been unshakeably pleased about it since the day it started.

I am not on a journey. I am not reclaiming anything. I have not been on a voyage of discovery and I would rather not be congratulated. I am a woman with an arrangement, four people over eleven years, one of whom lasted five, and the only unusual thing about me is my date of birth.

What I would like is somebody in his fifties or sixties, or younger if he can manage it without saying anything about how good I look for my age, who is decent company for an afternoon and who understands that Sundays are not available because I have grandchildren and they come first.

I am not going to write a list of what I do not want, because by now I can generally tell inside two messages, and the ones I cannot tell about are usually the ones worth meeting.