True stories of Grindr, ghosting and unexpected romance at our artist residency.
(an excerpt)
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I couldn’t help but feel frustrated recently when we’d offered to take two residents out for a day trip. We were driving through lush green hills, past stunning châteaux, enveloped by sunflower fields, as far as the eye could see under the bluest of cloud-free skies, and I could see him in the rear-view mirror head down, staring at his phone.
The stunning scenery rolling by unnoticed. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.
France isn’t romantic because someone is waiting on Grindr twenty kilometres away hoping for a quick rendezvous. It’s romantic because you’re driving past vineyards, chatting to locals drinking espressos in cafés, discovering beautiful villages, and getting to know the other talented and fascinating people we have in residence.
Put the bloody phone down and look aboot ye!
Stop obsessing. Swiping. Pacing, head down, like some deranged flamingo hunting a crustacean.
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