1 My beloved Willy

I met Willy in 1979, in a record shop, where he and his ramshackle band of punk rockers hung out, scaring the locals. As a perfect Johnny Rotten clone, he appealed immediately. At 17, the very sight of a nicely dyed spike and scabby jeans set my heart racing.

I took my duty as a feminist punkette seriously and asked him out, buying tickets to see Stiff Little Fingers at Glasgow Apollo.

He was incredibly nervous when we met, smoking 16 roll-ups in succession and commenting on my Skids T-shirt at least 20 times. Not that it mattered much to me – he was wearing an outsized old-man suit with blue brothel-creepers, hair freshly dyed orange; all far more important than anything he had to say.

But disaster struck in the form of four skinheads, who were prowling the aisles. There was some kind of tribal dispute between skins and punks in Glasgow at the time, for reasons that seemed to hinge on trouser length. Taking an instant dislike to Willy, they soon had him by the neck, threatening to chuck him over the balcony unless he handed over his badges.

Distraught and terrified, Willy not only gave up his own badges, but screamed that they should take mine too and that I had a rare 999 badge you could only get from an ad in Sounds. The bouncers arrived, and with their usual impeccable sense of justice, threw Willy and me out.

As we waited at the bus stop, I seethed as Willy sheepishly explained his non-violent political stance. Of course, it started to rain in buckets.

It was the speed with which he whipped off his stinky, ragged jacket and draped it around my shoulders, that saved the night.

Thirty years later, we are still together. My splendid punk has nursed me through serious illness and proved a smashing dad to our two wonderful kids. And he still plays in a godawful band! Fran Copeland

2 Was my date a perv?

We met for a Friday night drink in January 2001 and I was thrilled when he suggested seeing a French film on Sunday, L'Humanité.

The slow opening shot was of a man running across a ridge; we then cut to a dead female body, legs splayed. A murder had taken place in a village and the policeman was conducting an investigation.

Off-duty, he goes to see a friend and his girlfriend. After he leaves, these two start having sex – not gentle, loving and softly lit but full-on, close-up brutal bonking and here I was, sitting next to a man I hardly knew, wondering if he, too, was embarrassed. Or, I wondered, was he perhaps some horrible pervert, who had lured me into this film in the hope that these scenes would be replayed later in real life? Should I leave now, get in my car and drive home?

In between the murder plot was scene after scene of graphic sex with the last of these showing the girlfriend alone, sitting naked on her bed with legs splayed. The camera zoomed slowly in, not to her face but straight between her legs.

At this point, my date leaned over and whispered, "I'm so sorry, I'd no idea. What's the point of this?"

"It's a flashback to the first scene," I replied confidently.

"Oh," he said, impressed. "Of course."

I was relying on feminine intuition that his choice of film was a mistake. I was right. He is the epitome of that overused word, a "gentleman" and we've been in love and happily married for more than 10 years. Pat Bryer

3 Avenger's revenge

I spied a tall, blonde woman in the library in May 1984. I thought I would give it a go, and jumped right in. After a bit of hesitation, she – her name was Jane – agreed to meet for lunch in Oldham, a few miles from my office.

On the day, in the rain, I was driving my old Hillman Avenger. All went fine until, half way there, the clutch cable broke. I managed to get to the side of the road, look underneath and remove the cable. Then took some time to find a car parts shop and get a replacement part. Then it was back under the car, refit the cable and it was time to go back to work. No time to access a phone (long before mobiles were invented) so Jane had no news.

Later that day, I wrote Jane a short, grovelling letter and enclosed the offending part, which got me another chance at a date. We are now in our 28th year together. David Dawson

4 Botany and bottoms

It was almost 50 years ago. We had known each other for a year but it was not until we went on a botany field course at Slapton Sands in Devon that he asked me out. We set off to walk along the beach. I was a naive 19 year old who had never seen a man naked, and after about a mile we realised that we were among nude sunbathers. Seeing my embarrassment, he asked if I wanted to turn back. It seemed better to carry on, so we clambered over the rocks only to find there was no way through. Following us was a bloke dressed in shoes and socks, a woolly jumper and nothing else. Dying of embarrassment I had to turn round and brush past this exhibitionist. We retraced our steps.

We have been together now for over 48 years but the memory of that first date has never faded. Jacky Stow

5 Me and Mr Rhino

One night my friend Mary and I went back to her flat late after a night out. Mary's partner had been out and brought his friend Rob back. Both men had gone to bed. Rob had crashed out on a sofa in the living room. This left me the other sofa across the room.

I snuggled down and resolved to ignore the inert mass a few feet away. All was well, I fell asleep.

Suddenly I was awake! I looked across to the previously silent hulk. There he was, now flat on his back, snoring thunderously.

I needed to sleep as I had work the next day, but by now the room was vibrating with roars and gasps from the other sofa. I didn't know him well enough to wake him and ask him to turn over. Indeed, I didn't know him at all.

Finally, the shape rotated, the snoring stopped, I fell asleep ... only to be awoken minutes later by rhinoceros roars and grunts. He was on his back again. This torture continued. The night was long and I had time to contemplate the appalling thought that, one day, some poor woman would marry Mr Rhino.

At our next meeting, Rob was awake. We spent the night doing crosswords as I knew that sleep was futile. Thirty years on, he still snores, but at least I know him well enough to deliver a sharp kick when necessary. Sara Davis

6 He was a hottie

It wasn't love at first sight – he'd simply moved into the flat I was sharing. However, over time we discovered that we had things in common. One morning, he left a note on the kitchen table inviting me out. I decided we should try the new Lebanese restaurant.

All was going well. He took my hand tenderly in his. "This is nice," I whispered, accidentally blowing out the candle between us. The food arrived, but in the semi-darkness he didn't realise that he'd eaten the garnish – a chilli that must have been competing for top ranking on the Scoville chilli heat scale.

His eyes bulged in their sockets, sweat streamed from every pore, tears rolled down his cheeks and he let out an agonised primeval howl followed by some very dramatic panting. He grabbed a jug of water from a neighbouring table and gulped down the contents. This only made matters worse, and he dashed out into the street. I slapped a few coins down on the table and rushed out after him. All I could see was a small figure, yowling in pain, disappearing over the horizon like a human Road Runner.

We celebrate our 32nd wedding anniversary later this year. He still asks: "Can I eat this?" when anything remotely suspicious-looking appears on his plate. Alison Ryan

7 Lost in the post

A fellow student invited me out to the theatre one Friday evening in October 1965. I was impressed – no one had ever invited me to the theatre before! We arranged to meet by Swansea central post office. Trouble was, said post office had been decommissioned and a replacement had been built a few streets away.

Needless to say, he waited at the new building, I at the old. After about 10 minutes we each thought of the other possibility and decided to walk to the other location. Unfortunately, we both walked in a clockwise direction, thereby missing each other again. We then dutifully waited at the new location for about 10 minutes before giving up. He went to the theatre and I made my way home. I thought that was that, as he had no idea of my surname, let alone my address.

All was not lost. The following day he made his way into the departmental office at the university and went through the student files until he came across my photograph and personal details. (In those halcyon days neither office nor filing cabinets were locked and no admin staff were around!) We will celebrate our 45th wedding anniversary this year! Angela Coss

8 Love on the ward



We were introduced on Christmas Day 1963. I was a physiotherapy student who had volunteered to be on call over the holiday. Frank was a patient who was staying in over Christmas. After work, I visited the ward to see a friend who was a nurse.

After talking to my friend, I had time to kill before going off-duty and chatted to some of the patients. I was talking to one guy when Frank wandered up alongside his bed. Frank was in an old-fashioned wheelchair, distributing bottles of beer, which were stowed on the large wooden foot-plate of the wheelchair.

When I went back the next day, Frank wasn't on the main ward. He was in a side room, flat on his back in traction. He had been given an injection to relieve his pain, to which he didn't react well and, just after I arrived, he threw up all down the front of my uniform.

Fortunately this didn't put me off seeing him again and we went on to have nearly 38 years of marriage before his death. Moragh Carter

9 It was the pits

We met on a dating website, two oldies on a last-gasp lunge at love. We went to Tate Modern. He walked at such a pace that I felt like a toddler trotting along behind and felt sure he was thinking, "Oh God, get me out of here!"

We had lunch in the cafe. "I'm not that hungry," quoth he. We shared a sandwich. Between nibbles he kept his arms folded. Later he told me that the shirt he was wearing was so old that he had Sellotaped the holes in the armpits together. By lunchtime the Sellotape had got tangled up with his armpit hair and he was in agony.

We had a cup of tea together before I caught my train home. By this time, my anxiety was haemorrhaging inwardly and now outwardly, and I set free the words: "My yoga teacher says that eggs are chicken's periods."

"Oh, I quite liked eggs," he said, and then I caught my train home.

A few minutes later, I received a text from him titled: "Ten Reasons Why I Like You." There were 11.

We married last September.

Anonymous

10 Text it again, Sam

We met at a wedding. Him – Orson Welles crossed with Don Draper. Me – unable to believe my luck. We danced to Rihanna, he told me how he cared for his magnificent beard, we kissed as if we'd done it before and agreed we definitely wanted to do it again.

I went to Italy, got a suntan and came back. He didn't text. So I texted him. When he didn't reply, I deleted his number from my phone.

Then, out of nowhere, a text arrived. Typical! Once we'd arranged dinner, the messages came thick and fast. Days before we were due to meet, he texted at 1am, asking if he could just come round now? I was squirming with delight as I texted back (no!). Cheeky monkey, I thought, as I Instagrammed myself naked, and sent it to him.

I was shaking as I approached the restaurant for our first date. I walked in and told the man I was meeting Olly. However, glancing towards the bar, I saw an old admirer, Sam. What a coincidence. I greeted him warmly, though I was a bit confused when he asked whether I wanted a drink first or if we should go straight to the table. I explained I was there to meet someone else – Olly, the man who was going to be my happy ending to the "single at 32" story. My dream man. We stared at each other. Time stood still. I thought the ceiling was about to cave in.

I'd never transferred Sam's number to my new phone. When the first text from an unknown number came through, I'd assumed it was Olly. I'd been texting with a man who was funny, clever, on my wavelength. Sam had never been any of those things. But we agreed we should eat anyway as we were there and hungry.

The mix-up had been so momentous that we both felt something needed to change as a result. Were Sam and I destined to meet that night, in that way? I don't know, but it's still working for us. Rose Redd

11 Heavy weather

Towards the end of my first term at college, living in Newcastle city centre, I was disturbed by the almost constant sirens and craved the peace of the countryside. My friend suggested asking one of her boyfriend's flatmates, who had a car, whether he would take us all out for the day. We made arrangements, then the other two cried off.

Snow had fallen but in our naivety, we set off north towards Kielder Forest in Northumberland with a midwinter picnic on board. Eventually, after many miles, we realised that driving on forest roads in deep snow was not wise and we should turn round. This inexperienced driver reversed downhill at a junction and struggled to get traction to pull off again.

It was decided that I would attempt to push the car – an immensely heavy Hillman Super Minx – uphill to get it going again. Not realising that this was a particularly unkind and unreasonable request, I had a go, but pushed from behind the spinning wheel. It sprayed a mixture of mud and snow all up my front. The driver found this hilarious.

Forty years later, I am still expected to have a go at heavy or awkward physical tasks. Our daughter asks what on earth brought we two unlikely people together – the triumph of hope over experience? Sue Conway

12 Saucy memories

Audrey Hepburn was my first love, so when I saw a gamine student jiving away in a V-neck white sweater, black belt and swirling floral skirt, I was smitten.

I made an effort for our first date. I shaved, ironed cord trousers and polished Electricity Board shoes. She appeared in a long, light grey coat that smacked of quality: "You look great, wow! A Hepburn almost in person."

"Actually, I made it from a Dior pattern. This is the first time I've worn it."

It turned out that she was studying German and was off to Tübingen shortly. Must act quickly. How about this play by Brecht and finish with a quick meal in the theatre snack bar? It was a time when sauce was dispensed in large tomato-shaped plastic containers. You squeezed with both hands to force it from an encrusted nozzle. She tried without success. Here, let me help. I applied manly pressure and out shot an orgasmic jet of red ketchup from her neck to her waist, all over the white sweater.

It took 35 minutes in the ladies to sponge it to an acceptable blood stain. We missed the last train and passed a draughty overnight in Paddington waiting room. Nonetheless red is for passion and it worked out eventually. Barrie Rawcliffe

13 Supermarket sweep

I found my future husband in a nightclub and pushed him home in a shopping trolley. He was 16, I was 19. I wasn't looking for a life partner that night. I worked behind the bar in the club and had spotted him the previous week at student night.

The following week I was off work and decided to go to student night with one of my mates. We were on the lookout for toy boys – we'd had enough of serious relationships and wanted a bit of fun. I chatted him up, he fell asleep on my shoulder. I'd scored! By the end of the night he'd sobered up enough to think that getting into a shopping trolley was a good idea, and off home we went.

When he found out I lived nearer college than he did and bought cigarettes in packs of 200, he decided to stay. It took six months before we admitted that we actually liked each other and a number of years of both buying the same records ("in case we split up") before love was declared. Eight years in, I got pregnant accidentally.

Twenty five years after the night with the shopping trolley, we're still together and have a gaggle of truculent teenagers, who are at turns amused and embarrassed by their parents' first date. Anonymous

14 Doctor in the house

I was training to be a nurse in London in the early 80s. One day, cycling into the hospital, I passed a group of medical students. A guy at the front of the group caught my attention. He was slightly older, had a beard and wore a huge herringbone vintage coat. On my part it was love at first sight but my hopes evaporated when a nurse as stunning as Kate Moss rushed over and flung her arms around his neck.

The following February, the medical students held a Valentine's ball. By coincidence, one of my flatmates had started going out with Rob, who was a friend of this handsome student! Rob reported that Greg and "Kate" had separated and so he suggested that Greg should take me, as "a friend", to the ball. I was thrilled and borrowed a beautiful ballgown for the occasion. Then, two days before the event, my flatmate informed me that another of our party had been dumped by her boyfriend and so she had asked Greg if he would take both of us ... as friends.

I did not shine. The other girl was dainty with an hour-glass figure, while I was tall and nervously clumsy. I got my heel caught in the lace of my dress and tipped wine down my front, all of which Greg seemed to find amusing.

Annoyingly, he was the perfect gentleman sitting between us during the meal, dancing with both of us and then dropping us home. Afterwards, with nothing further to lose, I sent a thank-you card and asked him as "a friend" to the cinema, and the rest, as we say (30 years on), is history. Sian