Once upon a time

What better way to end than with the beginning?

Once upon a time there was a thirty something year old princess who lived in a shoebox. The recession had yet to descend like a fog over London and property prices were swirling out of control.

She hadn’t always lived in a shoebox. Oh no my precious, her previous abode had been a 3 bedroom end of terrace castle in leafier Ealing with her then prince.  A sweet man, they had decided that happily ever after wasn’t to be their ending and he had banished her from the Ealing castle to a dungeon of a shoebox. Sweet yes but charming he clearly was not.

So swearing never to love again she took all of her belongings (including a multitude of smaller shoeboxes) to live in her shoebox dungeon in Chelsea. At first she was happy to enjoy life outside of the castle. Cocktails and chocolate became her constant companions. She joined a band of merry singletinis and, although often ill-advisedly, she experimented with fancy dress and karaoke

Despite enjoying her shoebox she realised that her time in the dungeon could be better utilised if she actually tried to find a new prince. Not that every princess needs a prince but with a penchant for romantic comedies and an unfavourable economic climate it made both emotional and fiscal sense.

But where to start? In her twenties there were princes everywhere battling for her student hand but as she entered her thirties she noticed that fewer princes seemed to be around. Where had they all fled?

Then one day on a rare trip back to Ealing she stumbled across a psychic at the fair. She asked about her love life and the psychic said she couldn’t see anything in the cards. She asked again and the psychic looked confused and said that nothing was coming up. The princess was flummoxed. The psychic told her, “Go and seek it and take note of all that is around you.” Confused and disappointed the princess returned to the shoebox dungeon to reflect. And then it hit her. Maybe her prince couldn’t find her! Maybe he wasn’t very partial to the District line, something she could sympathise with entirely. Or maybe he was just running on African time?

So she decided to be brave. Why couldn’t she be the one to go out there and slay tube delays for her happily ever after? She was a romantic feminist princess after all. (DIY and vermin excluded).

And so began the princess’s adventures. She started updating about her misfortunes and was asked for more. Ah! Perhaps the psychic had meant that she take notes? She started out with a 6 month internet dating subscription confident that in that time she would find a prince with charm. That was 5 years ago.

That princess is me my precious. My name is Chelsea Black and welcome to my misadventures. And maybe, just maybe you will find tales in here that will remind you of the joy of a happily ever after.

© Chelsea Black

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