I went on a solo holiday and met a 60-year-old gay man who changed my life (2024)

Sitting outside a restaurant in Porto, Portugal – I smiled as I watched the world go by.

I was relaxing after I had enjoyed the most incredible brunch complete with a traditional croquette and some white port, when a softly spoken gentleman appeared and asked if he could share the table.

It was a very busy restaurant and I was technically at a table for two, so I gestured to the chair and he joined me.

Now, there’s always a moment as a woman alone in public where, when you’re approached by a man, you’re concerned.

Will they do or say something that puts you at ease? Or will they confirm your initial suspicion that you are indeed going to have to find an excuse to leave?

Luckily the gentleman did the former. But for those thinking this is the start of a whirlwind holiday romance, allow me to burst your bubble – I am not his type.

‘My husband is back in England,’ he smiled. ‘And I’m meeting a friend out here who is giving me a vineyard tour, do you mind if I join you?’

As a stand-up comedian, I spend my life on the road. I’m used to turning up in a strange town or city, working in a soulless chain café where they won’t kick you out for being on a laptop, before heading back to a grimy hotel room by myself.

To me, that’s normal.

But a year before my Porto trip, the rug was pulled from under me when my relationship ended a few days before we were supposed to be going for a break in Cornwall, and I couldn’t face doing the holiday we’d planned together, alone.

The fall out of that break-up led to a dissociative mental breakdown. As someone who had always been fiercely independent and adored their own company, all of a sudden, solitude was the most terrifying thing in the world.

I went to stay with my family for a month and cancelled almost all the gigs I had booked in that period.

But, as comedians tend to, I eventually channelled that pain into the process of writing a new show and it resulted in a successful Edinburgh Fringe run and subsequent tour.

Then came my next challenge though. Booking a holiday for one.

After ignoring the endless ‘retreats’ advertised for solo female travellers, I booked a trip to Porto. There was no particular reason for it being Porto specifically; I just knew I wanted to be able to look at water and drink nice wine. What better way to deliver on that brief than the home of port and the Douro River.

If I hadn’t booked Porto, I’d never have met John.

He explained that his husband, Peter, had opted to stay at home to, in John’s words, ‘catch up on some reading, which is more his thing’ and soon we were sharing tales from our lives in a way that you only can with a stranger that you assume you’ll never see again. 

There’s a real freedom to talking to someone you don’t know when they have no preconceived idea of you, and there are no perceived stakes of what they might think of you. It’s cathartic.

So, I told John all about the ups and downs of my year and he matched my vulnerability and openness by telling me stories of embracing his sexuality late in life, even down to the highs and lows of the gay scene in 1990s Newcastle.

Three glasses of port each later, John had to run off to go for the vineyard tour.

He left me his number and email address on a piece of paper (which, just like our meet-cute, was deliciously organic and analogue) and extended an offer for me to go and stay with him and his husband and their dog if ever I was in Scarborough.

We parted ways, and I quietly thought that it was unlikely I would ever have a reason to go to Scarborough, which was a shame.

I sketched him in a notepad to try and remember his likeness.  I then went off into Porto to browse galleries and buildings and reacquainted myself with gentle solitude.

Holidays don’t last forever, and when I flew home, I was thrown straight back into work and around December time, I got an email from my agent offering me a gig in Scarborough. As soon as it flashed up in my inbox, I thought of John.

I accepted the gig with the quiet notion in the back of my head that I could perhaps see him again.

To my delight, as soon as I texted him, he rang me back immediately. There was an instant warmth and familiarity to that voice and we soon confirmed a two-night stay in his lovely home, where he and Peter (and their beautiful dog, Boris) live.

February came and John met me at the train station. We spotted each other immediately.

We set off into Scarborough, where I met the infamous Peter and a couple of their friends, and we went to a Drag Bingo night. It was fantastic.

The following morning, I woke up in their home, hungover but happy. That night, John and Peter came to my show, and we had a wonderful time together walking Boris on the beach.

Before I left, I remembered the sketch I’d done of John, and thought it only right that he should have it. He confirmed it’s off to be framed, and will hang in their kitchen.

Now, John and Peter are coming to visit Edinburgh some time this year and while I don’t know if I’ll be able to beat Drag Bingo, they will be guests of honour at my 2024 Fringe show – which, I can confirm is looking to be far more joyful and light than the 2023 one.

When I booked my trip to Porto, after a painful and lonely year, the last thing on my mind was romance. But the truth is, romance is everywhere. It’s in solitude. It’s in strangers. It’s an adventure. It’s in a Mecca Bingo hall in Scarborough. 

I found such a deeply romantic and meaningful friendship with a 60-year-old gay accountant outside a bar in Portugal, and for that I’ll forever be thankful.

This article was first published on 21 April 2024

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.

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