It's 10.30 on a muggy autumn morning in Barcelona, although it feels much earlier. (I stupidly had three hours' sleep and the same number of bottles of wine last night).
I'm at the airport, sipping an espresso and staring at a rather attractive man. I wonder if he's a speedbreaker too. Don't know what a speedbreaker is? Even the most smug marrieds among you must by now have heard of speed-dating - singles events where each man has three minutes to talk to each woman before filling in a report card of whom they'd like their details emailed to. Now one of the companies that organises such events has taken the concept to foreign shores with the speedbreak - a dating holiday. And I'm on one of their first trips.
A couple of nights before setting out I went to try out one of their evenings in London by way of research.
My first date's opening line was: 'Nice cleavage.' Three minutes doesn't lend itself to much romance, I suppose. I'm hoping this weekend in Barcelona will produce men with a bit more substance. I've been told there'll be 20 of us, aged 25-45, all hoping to meet 'the one'. Still fantasising about my dream man, I realise the guy I've been smiling at has gone. Suddenly I feel very single. I obviously look it too. Becky, our rep for the weekend, bounds over asking if I'm on the speedbreak trip. 'Yes,' I whisper. 'Er, is anyone else?'.
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