Im James Whitaker, and after a divorce I found my prince at the village bus stop, and weve never been happier together.
Two years ago my world went topsyturvy. My father passed away and, after twenty years of marriage, I was finally divorced.
I moved back into my dads cottage in Littlebrook, West Yorkshire, after being made redundant. At forty I thought there was little chance of landing a new job or a fresh relationship.
Bad luck kept following me. The thatch roof, patched by a local handyperson, leaked, and I didnt have the strength to split firewood. The tradesmen who fitted new windows left gaps, letting the wind whine through the house.
To stay warm I gathered pine cones and used a pile of old books as kindling for the stove. Then the electricity went off, and I had to switch the heating off.
The landlord of the pub opposite started making me tempting offers. I wasnt sure whether to laugh or to cry I thought things couldnt get any worse, yet everything turned around.
My prince turned up at the Littlebrook bus stop, the bus pulling up right there. His hair was tousled, he wore work overalls, and he earned his living fixing roofs. He asked if I needed a hand. I admitted I did, but I had no money to pay him.
He said we could settle the debt when I got the cash. He repaired the roof, the tap, the water meter, the fence, the steps and the windows.
One bitter night I came home to a warm fire and a mug of herbal tea waiting for me. It was as if a miracle had given me exactly what my frozen throat and cold feet required.
I knew who my hero was and wondered how to thank him. Hes skilled but modest, so I wont write his name lest he be embarrassedour village is tiny and everyone knows him.
Now my house and garden have been transformed you can see a firm, masculine touch throughout. With my prince I feel warm and happy, and Im most afraid of losing him.
