First Date

The verdicchio was chilling, the canapés were looking pretty. I wore a DVF wrap dress, the kind that expands and contracts according to size. So forgiving. Adam, my long lost lodger came into the kitchen and eyed the set-up. Probably first time he'd seen me after hair and make-up department. You won't have heard much of him lately, because the rugby fan that he is, has been working abroad and taking in the Cardiff game, now back for the England  confrontation on Sunday.

My date arrived on time, in brilliant form, bearing champagne and a lovely surprise scented candle. How thoughtful, this little soiree is to give us a chance to get to know each other better, rather than meet in a noisy bar and go on to the noisier restaurant, which my date had booked well in advance. The scene was set for a promising evening. We'd met through a mutual friend at a lunch before Christmas, my date's busy international schedule had kept us apart until now.

But here we were at last, our eyes met across the champagne flutes, giddy with anticipation. The discovery of things in common, just bonding us more, when Adam returned with his Indian takeaway. All the better to lighten up the banter.

The champagne was going down fast, it was time for a cigarette. Yes, bad, bad, habit with a few drinks. But date was a willing accomplice, oh, what's not to like?

By now we'd discovered we both had the same teen crush. The kind nobody our age would ever have, James Coburn. Yes, reader, my date, let's call her Racquel, was a kindred blonde with a penchant for the silver fox. Which reminds me, I haven't admitted my crush on Jeremy Paxman. That usually stops a man in his tracks, quite a conversation killer.

When Racquel and I first met, it wasn't quite love at first sight, more of a 'are you seating me beside another girl?' The rivalry dissipated quickly, we discovered we live near each other and pragmatically decided that zero taxi fares were a bonus if we were going to meet again. My sartorially blessed friend, he of the contrasting cuffs, let's call him Leigh, was our bond. Only Racquel claimed he was really Her Leigh. Nothing better than some territorialism to up the ante.  We both had him on speed dial in case the evening ended in yawns.

Onwards via HailO, oh, what a treat. And soon we were tucking into a real hand-made burger, I checked with the waiter and he pointed at the picture of a cow on the menu, so that must be ok, right? Being in the grip of the nicotine fix we slipped outside for a quickie. That's when the smirting got serious. I can't remember when I was last out for dinner with just the one girl, but we were soon part of a boy gang. And Leigh gamely came to the rescue. The rest I'm afraid will be consigned to memory, only I do admit to moving on to a nearby late night garden in the city and persuading a film producer he had to read my book. Suffice to say, first dates with girls are to be recommended. Now you know why Adam wanted to stay and watch.