In Cyprus things are different and your average sell-by-date isn't quite the same as London's, Liz frost explains...

In England, being 31 and unmarried is perfectly acceptable. Perfectly run-of-the-mill-yawn-into-your-hand-normal. If anything it’s too normal. Really, when you think of it, how many 31 year-olds do you know who are married? Okay, a few, but there are countless of us who aren’t and we’re out there living amongst other normal people who have 2.4 children and a Labrador in the country. Well let me tell you, in Cyprus, things are very different…

Maybe it was my fault for going on holiday with my parents, but in Cyprus, being unmarried made me the circus’s version of the bearded lady. In fact, if there had been a circus, I would have been carted off to it and paraded around town next to the 2-headed baby for sure.

It all started with the owner of a local tavera. “You no married?” he asked me one night, aghast that I could reach this age without a trip up the aisle. When I shook my head, he gazed at me pityingly before giving me a toothless kiss on the cheek. “I find you someone” he said tapping the side of his nose and winking. “Er…thanks” I replied. And when he pointed out his 50-yr-old cousin, Derek(os) I realised that in Cyprus, I was at no age to be fussy.

It seemed after that, everywhere I looked were marrieds. They were eating together, walking together, swimming together, shopping together. It got me thinking. Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe I should be married? All these years I had been thinking I had plenty of time. I’d been waiting for Mr Right, but what if I’d dismissed him already because I was having too much fun being single?

I went through my past relationships in my head wondering if I’d already unintentionally cast my Mr Right aside in favour of a night in with a DVD or something. There was James with the wonky eye; there was Mark who couldn’t go out without washing his hands 5 times; there was Richard who was tee total (that would never have worked); there was Pete who was, well, too nice… I realised if Mr Right had already been and gone, then I really couldn’t tell…

I was pondering all this on the way home when I realised the cute guy across the aisle was trying to attract my attention. “Have you been on holiday with your parents too?” he said indicating the pair of them slumbering next to me. “Yes” I whispered. “Are those yours?” I pointed at his two, ear phoned up and grinning at the Hugh Grant flick that was playing. He nodded.

We gossiped across the aisle. I found he out he was a Copywriter from Balham, had a dog called Ralph and hated R&B. Then a while later we both needed the loo. “Synchronised bladders” he joked. I laughed a little bit too much.

So after all that, it seems I did get to walk up the aisle with a man after all, but for once in two weeks, I was glad I wasn’t married.

Dedicated to Beryl and Trevor Barnwell

Liz Frost is a freelance writer specialising in features for women's magazines. She writes for Company, Cosmopolitan, Glamour, Zest, B and Bliss. Email her at liz_frost@yahoo.co.uk, even if it's just to say hello!