“Love to travel” I wrote automatically, then had a double-take moment.  I used to love to travel.  Canada, Australia, Africa, America, Europe, been there (bits of) and done that (most of).    But still love to travel?  Short answer, No. 

Long answer, not until they invent an effective and comfortable teleporter which doesn’t need to be checked for flies or for that matter cockroaches or any other life form that a cheap and imperfect teleporter would incorporate into the unwary traveller’s DNA.  

I love to drive, for up to an hour.  After that the trucks and other cars and those bloody caravans, that isn’t as much fun as it was an hour ago. 

Trains – in my childhood we used to travel overnight to Durban in our own compartment, beds made up, choc on the pillow, I loved that.  Find me a train still doing that and I’ll rethink the travel thing. 

Sea travel?  Having been inevitably queasy on numerous ferries I’ve never felt the urge to go on a cruise.  Being trapped in a hotel which is bobbing up and down doesn’t immensely appeal. 

And flying, well, don’t get me started.  I’m claustrophobic and hate crowds, so being wedged in a cramped seat a mile above the ground in a metal tube with a few hundred people is about as close to my personal definition of hell as I hope I’ll ever get. 

I quite enjoy the actual holiday bit – exploring strange new places and enjoying different lifestyles – but there’s always the looming anxiety about the bloody awful trip back.  And whether I remembered to switch the oven off.  

After that little epiphany I examined the rest of my answers.   Hmmm.  Red hair?  Not so much.  As a Twitter friend said recently, I’m blonder every time he sees me.  Thanks DC but we both know the creeping blonde is in fact creeping pepper-and-salt.  Build?  Oh dear.  A few extra pounds does heavily rely on one’s personal definition of a few.  Changed that to Large.  They need an extra definition between those two – like, oh, 20% overweight.  

So, let’s re-examine the application.  Large greying anti-social smoker who won’t travel, doesn’t like walks in the rain, would rather poke herself in the eye with a mascara wand than watch sport on telly, is okay with animals as long as they don’t crap in the flowerbeds or need feeding early on a Sunday morning, and will never ever respond to any written approach from someone who spells as though Slade had taught them their English.

Yup, scrapped the application.  What’s the point?