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somewhere less starchy. I'd read that London was now the most exciting place to eat in the whole world. This restaurant wasn't remotely exciting. It was a relic from the past, and so was I, so it was just what I didn't need.
    I got there before her, feeling very self-conscious in my new clothes. I seated myself at a little table by the bar. As soon as I sat down I realised that the jockey shorts were far too tight around my crutch and were constricting my private parts. I longed to stand up and give them a good hitch, but I didn't dare to.
    My new clothes consisted of a check jacket, plain beige trousers, matching shirt, conservative plain blue tie. Oh God, was that what was 'so very you , sir'? I knew, the moment I entered the restaurant, that my shopping spree had been an opportunity missed – but then, if I was good at anything it was at missing opportunities. It was there that my genius resided.
    I ordered a dry sherry. The moment I ordered it I regretted that I hadn't made a slightly trendier, slightly less British, slightly more worldly choice. I decided to call the barman back to change my order, but when he turned in response to my 'Excuse me . . .' I said, 'No, sorry, it doesn't matter', because I didn't want him to think that I was indecisive. I don't think I had ever felt so nervous in my life, even when taking my fourth driving test.
    By this time I was convinced that she wouldn't come, I hoped that she wouldn't come, and then, suddenly, there she was and I knew in less than a second that I could hardly have borne it if she hadn't come.
    She was wearing a very shiny outfit, in lurid green. On the whole I didn't think I liked the material, but my consolation was that there was very little of it. It was extremely low cut, revealing a charming cleavage, and it was also very high cut, if that is the right phrase, which I doubt, showing lots of no less delightful leg. There was also a gap in the middle, exposing flesh far too young for me. I would hate you to think I am a snob. Rachel was a snob. Jane is a snob. I am not. Nevertheless, I have to admit that I was relieved that the tattoo I had glimpsed on the train was now hidden.
    She was probably the first person in the history of L'Escargot Bleu to order a pint of lager as an aperitif. The barman wanted to grin at her, but his job wouldn't allow him to. I don't usually notice things like that, but I noticed that I was noticing things I wouldn't usually notice. My senses were sharpened by her arrival, her nearness, her presence, her loveliness.
    I suppose I ought to admit, in the interests of that prim mistress, Truth, that if you saw her you would probably not think her beautiful. Attractive, yes, but not beautiful. You might describe her as somewhat elfin, or what the French call gamine, but what other people might think of her is, ultimately, irrelevant.
    There was she, five foot three, raising a pint glass of lager, and there was I, six foot and half an inch (I don't do metric), raising my tiny sherry glass. We clinked carefully, for fear the beer glass would shatter the sherry glass, and she said, 'Cheers, Alan.'
    'Cheers, Ange.'
    She smiled, and there was shyness in her smile.
    'I've never been out with a philosopher before,' she said.
    'I've never been out with a darts groupie,' I replied.
    'I was gobsmacked when you asked me.'
    It was my turn to smile shyly.
    'I was very . . . er . . . gob . . . er . . . surprised when I asked you.'
    'I wondered if you'd turn up.'
    'I wondered if you'd turn up.'
    'I'm glad you did.'
    'I'm glad you did.'
    'I bet you don't have conversations like this with your philosopher mates.'
    I smiled inwardly at her use of the word 'mates'. How little she knew of my life. I didn't have any philosopher mates. The nicer philosophers that I knew were deadly rivals, the nastier were deadly enemies.
    'Not quite, no,' I agreed.
    An elderly French waiter, a man of the old school, collected us from the bar, placed our drinks on a tray, with a