I'd only met my lockdown lover 24 hours earlier but he had a big question to ask. By Lorna Prichard, 33
I put my microphone back in the stand and waltzed over to the bar, the sound of applause still in my ears.
‘Great set, Lorna,’ my friend Eleri said. ‘Are you still on a man ban?’
‘Straight to the point,’ I replied with a laugh. ‘You know I am.’
We were both stand-up comedians, so the late nights and weekends on stage meant there was very little time for romance.
That didn’t mean I didn’t want to find love eventually.
As well as comedy, I’d always been a big film fan and grew up watching love stories on screen.
But my love life was less Casablanca and more Clueless. I’d had plenty of box-office bombs in my time.
All of my energy went into my stand-up comedy career, so I’d decided to quit dating for a year.
I reasoned I had plenty of time after that to find a man.
But it seemed the universe had other ideas.
When my man-ban year was almost up, the coronavirus pandemic hit and we were all plunged into lockdown.
I couldn’t believe it.
‘How on earth am I going to meet someone now?’ I said to Eleri on a video call.
‘Well, there’s always online dating,’ she replied.
I was sceptical. I just didn’t think it was for me.
But with the comedy clubs shut, I was twiddling my thumbs.
The only way to meet new people during lockdown was online, so I took the plunge and downloaded the dating app Hinge.
Jobless comedian after an audience of one, I tapped out, alongside pictures of me, my cats and on my bike.
'Are you still on a man ban?'
The app found me a couple of dates, and I met them online.
But there was no spark with any of them, and no second dates followed.
Weeks passed and I was just about ready to give up.
In fact, my finger was poised ready to delete the app when up popped a notification: New message.
I opened it and chuckled.
When you go cycling, do your cats come along and sit in the basket? it read.
It was from a man called Leo.
Originally from Brazil, he was an engineer now living in Bristol.
He had salt and pepper hair and a twinkle in his eye, and I thought: He looks nice.
So I decided to give him a try and we started chatting.
Messages flew back and forth and eventually, he asked me on a video date.
Finally, I could feel that heat that had been missing.
I frantically tidied up my bedroom, set up my lighting and checked my angles in my phone camera.
But I was left watching the clock until finally, an hour later, up popped Leo.
He was sitting there in a scruffy old top, clearly having made no effort whatsoever.
‘How come you’re an hour late?’ I asked.
But then he smiled, and I couldn’t stay mad.
I wasn’t sure if it was chemistry or the promise of holidays in his hometown of Rio de Janeiro that clinched it, but we spoke for hours.
Leo had focused on his work for years, same as me, and we just clicked.
After that, we talked every day and no topic was off limits.
We hadn’t even met, and we’d already decided how many kids we’d like.
As soon as lockdown restrictions eased, we arranged to meet at a park for our first official date.
I pulled on an oversized summer dress to hide the fact I hadn’t waxed my legs in four months, and drove from my home in Cardiff to our meeting place in Bristol.
A figure wandered over to my car in shorts and flip-flops and my heart did a somersault.
Leo was exactly the same in person as he’d been on screen.
We stayed a safe two metres apart, but even that couldn’t stop the electricity between us.
‘Let’s do this again tomorrow,’ Leo suggested, and I agreed straightaway.
This time, we had a picnic by the river and, as we sat on the blanket, Leo cleared his throat.
‘Lorna, will you marry me?’
he said.
I reached out for another crisp.
‘Definitely,’ I replied.
We finished the picnic, then went for a swim in the river.
We were engaged after just 24 hours. But hanging out with Leo felt like home.
Leo gave me a ring he had brought with him from Brazil before he moved to the UK, just in case he met someone.
It was a perfect fit.
I held out my hand to admire it and realised I had some explaining to do.
I called my mum.
‘I’ve got a bit of news, Mum,’
I said. ‘I’m engaged.’
‘You’re what?’ she replied. ‘I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend!’
‘Well, it’s all very new,’ I said.
It was the understatement of the decade.
Thankfully, Mum got on board with the idea quickly.
But then I called my friends.
‘Are you having a breakdown?’ one asked.
It was shocked face after shocked face.
'I've got a bit of news'
One even suggested that Leo was scamming me.
I couldn’t help but laugh at that suggestion — Leo was an engineer
with Brazilian and Portuguese passports, while I was an out-of-work comedian.
‘If anything,’ I said, ‘I’m the one scamming him!’
Soon, however, another lockdown was looming.
I had a three-bedroom flat, so there was an obvious solution.
‘Why don’t you move in with me?’ I said to Leo.
My friends couldn’t believe what I was doing.
We’d only been together for a week.
It meant there was plenty to find out about each other. And it soon became clear that opposites really do attract.
While I worked at weird times, Leo’s schedule was very regimented.
At the supermarket, Leo picked up some steaks.
‘You don’t eat meat?’ he asked in shock, when I recoiled.
‘I’m a vegan,’ I said.
Of course, there were some snags.
Leo was horrified his clothes were covered in cat hair, but I lied and told him: ‘Don’t worry, they only moult in the summer.’
And there were other differences too.
Leo was happy for us to nip to the register office for a quick wedding, but I wanted us to have a big celebration with all our friends and family.
That meant waiting until after lockdown ended.
So, that’s what we are going to do.
Now, we’ve been together 10 months.
It should be the honeymoon period, but it feels like we’ve been together for 30 years already.
It’s hard to believe we got engaged after a day, but we’re a real-life romcom — and Leo is my leading man.