If I like a girl, I mentally test the sound of her first name and my last. I have come to realise that there aren’t many first names that gel with mine. Listening to Sonshine fm (98.5) last night, I that if I am to marry, her name must be Rebecca. For a while “Vanessa” drew my fancy (maybe it’s the combination of cvcvccv?), but now I am convinced. I may now stride – nay, strut – with the full assurance of knowledge of the Christian name of my yet-to-be-betrothed.

There are not many Christians in any milieu, apart from a church service. There are certainly few who swing dance. So here am I, one of maybe three Christian guys in my city who swing dance; seeking a Christian girl who also loves the style, and who is fun-loving, playful, neat, devoted to the Gospel of Christ; someone I can like and respect and admire. And it took the radio to show her to me. (Ironic, as I’ve the ideal face for radio and the ideal voice for mime.)

Yet the likelihood of us meeting is not great; however, I would have thought that, being who she is, Rebecca St James would have been married by now. O well, hope springs eternal, despite the beatings I give it. Maybe blunt force isn’t enough; I’ll try something more incisive.

But after coffee.

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