As I pushed my trolley around Aldi looking for the cheapest rice and pasta I could find to feed the family, I thought wistfully, of my first love, Rupert. He has, I spotted on Instagram, just returned from a sailing trip in Greece where I imagine he stayed with his beautiful wife and children on a chartered yacht with a personal chef and a skipper.
We, on the other hand, spent our last holiday in rainy Wales in a tiny bungalow. We didn’t go out to eat once because my husband said we couldn’t afford it. As for foreign holidays, it’s been three years since we got on a plane and I have no idea when we’ll be able to afford to go again.
My husband and I spent our last holiday in rainy Wales. My ex, on the other hand, has just returned from a sailing trip in Greece. It’s hard not to compare, and quite frankly, regret the romantic choice I’ve made. I broke up with Rupert 25 years ago, but I still torture myself with what might have been...
I think about how much easier life would be if I wasn’t worrying about energy bills or how we are going to pay for our daughter’s school trip. I daydream about how wonderful it would be to be married to someone who knew how to enjoy life and didn’t spend half his time fretting about his pension.
I met Rupert on my first day at university in the late 1990s. He was that tall, dark and handsome cliché, beautifully dressed in a Ralph Lauren shirt and preppy chinos. I plucked up the courage to chat to him and, later that night, we ended up kissing.
