Anyone who has found themselves in my inbox of late will know that booking a date with me is as strained as being in a room with a COVID-19 anti-vaxxer. Even with an assistant, who dutifully scans my inbox for diamond suitors, my busy schedule - alongside that pesky little thing we’ve called a global pandemic - has meant that dalliances have been far from my mind of late. But let me assure you, I have implemented a few changes to the way I do things that I hope will free up more space for romantic pursuits…

The act of revering another's body. The process of acute, euphoric observation of another's corporeal form. The practice of adoration.

I like to consider myself a modern woman. It would be hard to otherwise, considering my credentials of being a polyamorous, sexually, liberated feminist. That’s quite a lot of contemporary strings to have in one’s bow. Not to mention the tattoos, piercings, undercut, armpit hair, shitposting on Twitter… you get the drill, I’m no wallflower, and I’m not interested in expectations that are meant to coddle me into submission.

We all have a warm underbelly that we try to protect from the world. We all have vulnerabilities, harboured secrets we vow to never let leave the quietest parts of our hearts. Some call this fear, some call this desire, some can’t put their finger on it, tracing the lines of an intangible feeling that tells them that something doesn’t feel quite right. In a world where we are constantly distracted by duty, consistently taught that to be open to connection, to the world, to others around us, is to open ourselves to hurt.