ANDREW GIMSON: I tried for the Samaritans but found my wife instead

The Daily Telegraph ^ | October 25, 2002 | Andrew Gimson

[MadIvan]

The search for the love of your life can be long and baffling, and most of us find ourselves forced to make it without the help of the delightful Ulrika Jonsson. In her new television show, Mr Right, she offers one man, Lance Gerrard-Wright, a choice of no fewer than 15 women, all of whom appear eager to win him.

I do not grudge him his good fortune, for getting to know even one woman, let alone 15, while being filmed for a television programme, is something I could never in a million years carry off.

The debonair Mr Gerrard-Wright seems in his element and managed, in the first episode, to find something nice to say about each of the 15 women, even while eliminating five of them from playing any further part in the competition for his hand.

But given that most of us, men or women, are never going to be chosen to go on a ridiculous show like this - there were, apparently, 5,000 applicants for Mr Gerrard-Wright's role - how should we set about finding true love?

I leave on one side the possibility that the very idea of true love is a romantic delusion. My aim is simply to suggest that love may be found in the most unexpected places, and is actually more likely to be discovered when you have not set out to look for it.

Ten years ago, I applied to join the Samaritans. I still don't know why I did this, and the unsatisfactory account I gave of my own motives was probably one reason why they turned me down.

But before I could be turned down, I had to go on a selection course, with 20 other applicants, that lasted the whole day and was designed to show whether we were suitable people to take telephone calls from the suicidally depressed.

The Samaritans who mingled among us wished to discover, for example, whether we harboured prejudices against child molesters, which would make us unable to listen to a child molester who needed someone to talk to. The Samaritans also wished to see whether we would try to foist our own beliefs on the people who rang up, by preaching down the telephone at them instead of allowing them to say what they wanted to say.

We were divided into groups of about six and held a series of highly artificial discussions, in which we struggled to show that we were untainted by racism, homophobia or any other prejudice that might render us unfit to become Samaritans.

The strain of doing this was very great, but I could not help noticing that one member of our group - a tall woman, with long, dark hair, wearing a green corduroy skirt - laughed at some of the same involuntary elements of comedy as I did.

She also gave a very brave reply when we were discussing what we would say to a caller who said he was about to throw himself out of a high window. She said she would ask him if he was really serious about this, because, if he was, he should go ahead and do it. In that way, she explained to those of us inclined to take a more cautious approach, you would call the man's bluff.

The last test we underwent was one of those multiple-choice questionnaires, in which you give clues to your personality by answering yes or no to dozens and dozens of questions read out one after another, such as "Do you like cuddly toys" and "Have you ever wanted to go to Africa".

The sofa on which we were sitting shook with the suppressed laughter of the woman in the green skirt. As I walked away from the selection course, I thought I would very much like to see her again. The trouble was that I only knew her Christian name, which was Sally.

But, luckily, I had gathered that she had written some articles for the Observer and had even supplied some information about the recent general election to the great Alan Watkins at that newspaper. As befits a man of the world when asked to take on the role of Cupid, Mr Watkins was very calm and understanding when I rang him.

He got his secretary to ring me back a few minutes later with Sally's telephone number and address, which was c/o the Green Man, Essex Road, Islington, rather as if she went in to the pub from time to time to pick up her mail, though I found, when I rang the number, that she was actually renting a room above the Green Man. I also found, to my relief, that she too had been turned down by the Samaritans, though they did say they would like to hear from her again when she felt ready. The following year we got married.

Now it may be objected that most of us can no more turn to Mr Watkins when in search of love than we can turn to Miss Jonsson, but that is not my point. I merely wish to suggest that, if you want love, you should go looking for something else. Women who want to have babies, and are worried that they have not yet conceived, often find that things take a turn for the better when they start concentrating on something completely different. So, too, with love: it is a very unexpected thing.

The chances are, by the way, that if Mr Gerrard-Wright does find true love on that programme, it will be with Miss Jonsson. There is undoubtedly, I would say, a sort of chemistry between them, and they plainly amuse each other, so I would like to be the first to wish them every future happiness.

[MadIvan]

I will explain more about the whole Ulrika thing if people want - I rather hope I don't have to.

I'm waking up on a morning in which my lady rang me up, got annoyed with me - at 5:30 AM, I'm not precisely the most clever bloke on the planet - and now I have to wonder what kind of day this is going to be like. But I am buoyed by the thoughts in the dear old Telegraph - the path to such things is never quite smooth.

We had an article on here earlier in the week about marriage being less common - I dare say finding love is harder in an age of instant communication than it was in the past. Perhaps there is too much noise and not enough genuine communication. So when you find it, grasp onto it, and don't let go.

Regards, Ivan

[MadIvan]

Bump!

[Misty Memory]

So when you find it, grasp onto it, and don't let go.

Sometimes you have to let go.

[MadIvan]

Sometimes you have to let go.

True enough, but there are times you have to fight too.

Regards, Ivan

[Misty Memory]

True enough, but there are times you have to fight too.

If she's worth fighting for and feels the same about you, do all in your power to hold on to her.

I wish you well.

[MadIvan]

If she's worth fighting for and feels the same about you, do all in your power to hold on to her.

Well I hope we're strong enough that some misunderstandings in the early morning can't hobble us. I couldn't fall asleep afterwards though.

Regards, Ivan

[Misty Memory]

Decide what's important to you and let the unimportant go. Don't let pride stand in the way of love.

[MadIvan]

Oh I forfeited pride a long time ago. ;)

Regards, Ivan

[Misty Memory]

Then you know what's important! :)

[Maximum Leader]

Nice article Ivan. Of course now we're all curious at to what Miss Jonnson looks like. Got a pic for us?
:o)

[MadIvan]

Well you asked:

Regards, Ivan

[Maximum Leader]

Hey Ivan,

Cute girl. Just did a google search on her. Interesting story about how the name of her alleged rapist (which in her book had been kept secret) was "accidently" mentioned on live television. The alleged rapist is probably going to sue for libel.

The US, as you know, has basically nonexistent libel laws for public figures (both politicians and celebrities). A woman in a similiar situation-- Believe me, we had more than a couple come out of Arkansas-- could make such an accusation openly without fear of any libel action.

Didn't mean to go off thread like this, but its always curious to see how English and American law has diverged.