As I board my afternoon flight from Gatwick, I feel a certainty I have never felt before: this is it. The love of my life will be on this flight. I am sure of it. He will speak six languages and have a spare neck pillow which he will courteously lend to me, but for which I will have no use, because we’ll already be animated in conversation by the time the flight attendants are telling us where the whistle is located on our lifejackets. I will keep the neck pillow and sell it on Vinted for £80. This will launch my Vinted empire, and I will be featured in Forbes next February for my impact in sustainable fashion. While listening to the man’s stories from volunteering in an animal sanctuary, I miss where our nearest emergency exit is. He tells me not to worry: he is an ex-SAS who quit because of his pacifistic nature.

“This is it. The love of my life will be on this flight”

An EasyJet executive, who is flying economy to observe the customer experience, spots us and our undeniable chemistry and asks us to be their poster couple. Our compensation: vouchers for holidays which will be valid if we spend more than £650, rather than the usual minimum spend of £700. I tell the executive I’ll think about it, and that it’s my first time visiting Tuscany. He announces he owns several vineyards and invites me to his smallest one, which is 800 acres. I refuse three times, out of politeness, before accepting. A cough escapes my throat, and I say that I wish I had a Lemsip. The ex-SAS next to me announces that he recently became a top diplomat. He is now on the phone to Rome. When he hangs up, he lets me know that the embassy has prepared me a package of blackcurrant max-strength Lemsips. “How did you know I prefer blackcurrant?”, I ask him. He looks in my eyes: ‘I just knew.’ It is evident that this is a connection unlike any other.

“The embassy has prepared me a package of blackcurrant max-strength Lemsips”

A flight attendant walks past me and hands me a can of BBQ Pringles. They don’t usually stock this flavour, but the flight attendant could tell they were my favourite, and she has contacts in high places (the creator of Pringles is on this plane for some reason, and we are at 37,000ft). The ex-SAS-turned-diplomat tells me to look out the window as we pass the Alps and passes me a telescope which he takes with him everywhere because he never knows when the perfect moment for stargazing will strike. I look at him in disbelief: “Surely at night, no?” He laughs at this, as does everyone else on the plane. A woman smiles at me and says something beautiful in French that I assume means I should do stand-up. My humour transcends the barriers of language. I zoom in with the telescope and spot several people carrying logs of wood across the mountains. The ex-SAS-turned-diplomat made a call and is now building me a chalet as a sign of our eternal love. He sees the look of worry on my face and assures me that he is using sustainable materials and ethical building practices. I ask to move seats. It’s a nice gesture, but skiing has never appealed to me, and honestly, a chalet is a little excessive.

As I walk down the aisle to a free seat with 3 times the leg room and a free pair of pyjamas (which don’t usually come with the airline but are perfect for the 2-hour flight), a baby starts crying behind me. I glance in its direction and offer it a gracious smile which makes them briefly beam back at me before falling asleep. Everyone on the plane looks at me with immense gratitude, and the mother promises to name her second child after me. The plane lands and I step out excited to start my new life on a vineyard in Tuscany. I go to baggage claim; my bag has gone to Sweden. It would have been an ideal flight, but I suppose my imagination can only go so far.