Typography & design by
Richard Wolfströme

Exhibition and installation
by Standard 8

Website
Words William Shaw
Design Richard Wolfströme
Photography Kenny Laurenson

Publishing consultant Adrian Driscoll

An Unmadeup Production

Act casual

The taxi rank outside the Brighton Conference Centre

Valentine’s could be miserable. At work it was always, Who’s getting roses? Who’s getting cards? Not Stella.

So when a friend asked her out to a party, it was, "Yeah. Definitely."

The irony was, the night called Love2Love was organised to launch a dating agency. Stella didn’t date; she’d given up on it. It was pretty much a New Year’s resolution.

Stella had been single for years. She’d tried speed dating, Guardian Soulmates, lots of things, but they never led anywhere. Non-smoker, didn’t drink. Even if the men she met spoke about commitment, they didn’t want it.

She hadn’t expected to end up this way. Her sister got married last year. That has been a big thing; she was four years younger. Stella concluded if wasn’t going to happen, she couldn’t make it. She should relax, enjoy herself instead.

They’d decorated the Lo Lounge with heart-shaped balloons, and hired Cupid, bare-chested, with feather angel wings and jeans.

She might not have actually been dating, but she circulated, talked to a few men, had a good time. But then, around ten, there was this man sitting at the bar who looked a little left out so she tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Hi."

He was Chris. He’d been to Australia. Stella had too. Chris was a mechanic. Stella was really passionate about Formula One. She suddenly became aware how... comfortable she was talking to this man. Really comfortable. He was really nice.

Act casual.

"Look," she said. "I’ll catch up with you later. Perhaps have a dance."

And she left, to chat to others. Later, when they danced, he was still nice. She liked that he wasn’t all over her.

At midnight in the ladies’, they demanded, "Ooh. Have you met someone?"

Much later, the last two to leave, they wait outside the conference centre, looking for a cab to share. They haven’t yet swapped numbers. She’s trying not to expect too much. In her hands are the balloons she’d asked him to fetch her from the party.

No flowers, no cards, but this year she does have balloons.