On finding true love

For Katherine Thomas.

Walter looked a little like a duck. His nose was beaky, he had an unattractive gait which was, you've guessed it, more of a waddle really. For a man, he was short, but compensated for it with good cheer.

In Walter, there was not a whiff of arrogance or the slight bitterness one sometimes sees in those who have a chip on their shoulder due to perceived misfortune. And there was one more thing: Walter was very, very funny. He had the sort of timing which would cause his friends - and he had many- to double up; to have painful sides. He was also articulate, without being showy. Walter loved words. Felt them in in his mouth like something smooth and minty (a humbug) or rough and to be handled carefully (managed carefully with your tongue).

Walter's mother loved him dearly; to his father, he had always been a bit of disappointment, though dad tried not to show it. Walter was clumsy and, in those who did not know him, he might cause giggling or the foolish scorn of those who really should know better but don't. Walter, also, had never had a girlfriend - but he lived in hope. Waddling on through and making people laugh.

That day, on his way to work -Walter restored fine musical instruments - he had an odd sensation that today was different; an inchoate feeling - not of dread, but of a sort of warmth spreading up through him. One might say a new kind of happiness. There was a woman waiting for him at the shop; she had a cello and was -did you see this coming?- tall and willowy. She had the gentle flush of the English rose and strawberry blonde hair; she wore a white coat. Almost, he dared say, a little like a swan. Walter didn't mean to look a little too intently, but then she was, to his eyes, heart-meltingly lovely.

Yes, I can restore your cello to health. It will take this long; these are the procedures I am likely to follow and yes - it is a truly fine instrument which you're so right to treat with reverence and want to bring back to its former glory. He was avoiding her eyes for fear of blushing, but, when he looked up, she was staring intently at him. There was an awkward silence. Now or never. He wouldn't die if she laughed in his face.

"I have a break at about 11. I wonder if you would like to come and have coffee with me. At the new shop over the road?"

Well now. They were both blushing. Later they drank their coffee and talked and talked and the next day, too. Like him, she loved to play with words; to handle them and feel their heft. And Walter worked on the cello until he had brought it back to clear, resonant notes and a burnished beauty. She struck some notes right there in the shop and he almost cried. But she stopped him, right there, with a kiss and the world around went silent.

Yes, they do make a funny-looking couple, the swan and the duck. But they laugh constantly and make the kind of music that reverberates long. With them, you hear -no feel- the grace notes: those notes between notes which you take in on a visceral level. There are three little ducks or swans. They have their mother's grace and their father's waddle - a curious combination, but a good one.

So, ladies, if he looks like a duck, but he makes you double up laughing. If he can nurse something tired and jaded back to life. If he talks and his words do not enervate but buoy you up. If he smiles at everyone and there is no tiring bitterness about the man, then kiss him and be transported. You know I'm right.