Saturday morning and I bump into William sitting in the outdoor cafe of the local park.
‘So what happened with Dave?’ he asks.
‘Nothing. He saw me into a taxi and that was the last I heard of him.’
‘Oh!’ says William, looking surprised. (Or pretending to be.) ‘Well, I think he’s been away.’ And then he swiftly changes the subject.
The truth is that I enjoyed meeting Dave (it was fun to meet a reader who actually buys the stuff that I write about in the FT) but I instinctively knew that I am not his type. For a start, I can see him with someone with a high maintenance beauty regime whereas I’m a firm believer that life is too short for manicures.