Standing at the bar, sipping a iced diet coke, I check my watch again. I don’t like unpunctuality, and I’m fairly sure that if an Englishman had drawn up the seven deadly sins it would be on there. Actually, make that an Englishwoman. This Englishman obviously has no compunction about leaving a lady standing at the bar. And then I see him making his way over, and there’s the most curious feeling in my chest. I assume it’s some form of tummy upset and resolve to do an extra fifteen minutes of yoga tonight to sort myself out.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, couldn’t get off the phone. Honestly, parents, they fuss over me like I’ve just left home.” I hope he doesn’t see my little look of derision, I’m almost certainly old enough to be his mum. “You okay? No delayed after-effects from your little trip?”
“Umm, thanks for that,” I say, unsure of what else to add to it, or indeed, why I am even here.
