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When I first moved to London, I was young(er), free and very single, and the eligible bachelors of London were my oyster. Buoyed by Bacardi, I’d asked a good-looking chap if he fancied a game of ‘I Spy’ and he knocked me back in spectacularly public fashion.I swore to never make small talk with beautiful strangers again.The exchange also showed that the woman's family was not simply selling her or rejecting her; the gifts formalized the legitimacy of a marriage.Gifts from the betrothed wife ( A man could marry a woman by winning her, through competition, as a prize. If the wife gave consent, children bred from the concubine would be acknowledged as heirs to the husband.From then on the future of my love life depended entirely on the whims of the single men of London town.
He kept two separate establishments: this was a case of bigamy, which, as Herodotus though they are frequently represented as living in concubinage with one or more.Without fail, I’d become hugely disillusioned with the whole thing, cancel my membership and once again wallow in my eternal singledom. This summer, in a Jackson-esque moment, I decided to ‘make a change’.Then, spurred on by the wedding-invite season, I’d sign up to the internet dating game again in the hope that for once I could RSVP with a real-life plus one. I’d challenge my fussiness, tackle my morbid fear of dates head on and plunge headfirst into the dating pool.Marriage was usually arranged between the parents of the bride and the groom himself.A man would choose his wife based on three things: the dowry, which was given by the father to the groom; her presumed fertility; and her skills, such as weaving.