FALLING IN LOVE AT 51 Christina Patterson shares her experience of finding a partner later in life

There are myriad unexpected benefits and advantages to finding your partner later in life, says Christina Patterson

I WANTED A WEDDING DRESS LIKE MY MOTHER’S. I WOULD CARRY A BOUQUET OF PINK ROSES. The ceremony would take place in a country church, probably when I was about 25. All I had to do was wait for the groom.

I waited through my 20s. I waited through my 30s. I waited through my 40s, as the panic rose. I’ve never been passive in any other area of my life, but I had been brought up by my parents to believe that love was something that found you, not something to seek. When I say I waited, I don’t actually mean that I sat at home watching telly in the hope that someone a bit like Barack Obama would break down my front door. I was, in fact, always busy: working, meeting deadlines, meeting friends, going to parties and sometimes even going on a date. Life was interesting. Life was full. But I just couldn’t seem to find love.

And then, when I was 51, I signed up to dating apps and tried again. By then, I was ready for a kind man, but you can still be ready and not necessarily find one, so I think I was actually just lucky. My lovely bloke popped up and, over four years later, he’s still here. We met on a Sunday night. We met again the next night, then two nights later, and then, on the Saturday, for a country walk and a pub lunch. That night, we danced in my sitting room to Madeleine Peyroux singing Dance Me To The End Of Love.

I don’t think I could love him much more, but I don’t think I would love him half as much if I hadn’t had all those years without him. I was always a sucker for the charming chancer, but it wasn’t until I kissed him at a bus stop, on our second date, that I realised I had been kissing the wrong kind of frog. That charm and chatter isn’t, in fact, half as sexy as a deep sense of calm.

I don’t think he could love me much more, but I don’t think he would love me half as much if I hadn’t had the adventures I’ve had and done the things I’ve done. I’ve had a very interesting career. I’ve travelled a lot on my own. I wouldn’t have done half these things if I hadn’t been on my own.

In my book, The Art Of Not Falling Apart, I write about my life as a single woman. When I was writing it, I realised that if you’re single, you make more effort. You build a family of friends. You make your own entertainment. You don’t expect another person to fulfil all your needs. I don’t expect to have deep conversations about poetry with my partner, and he doesn’t expect me to weep with joy when Arsenal win. But we do these things with our friends, then enjoy each other’s company more. I don’t expect anyone else to entertain me, and this takes the pressure off.

When I was younger, I sought perfection and raged when I couldn’t find it. I would reject before I was rejected. I would smash the whole thing at the first sign of a flaw. I was too defensive to allow myself the sweet, animal comfort of being quiet in someone else’s arms.

I have lived enough and done enough to know, now, who I am. I know the things I can compromise on and the things I can’t. I know that a cross word isn’t the end of the world. I have learned the unexpected joy of backing down. I have certainly changed my mind about love: I thought young love was more romantic, but I now know that it isn’t. If you haven’t found love yet, take it from me: it isn’t too late. Keep looking. Try something different. We all have patterns, but you can learn to break them.

It’s too late, of course, for me to have a family. That bothered me when I was younger, but it doesn’t now. I’m looking forward to new adventures. My partner is buying a cottage in the country. We’ll move between his cottage and my flat. We’ll keep our finances separate. We’re two people, not one. I don’t think I’ll be needing that white dress, but I hope he’ll dance me to the end of my time.

‘I don’t expect anyone else to entertain me’