Read Dinner for Two for Free Online Page B

spent the majority of my day of freedom with my former colleagues in the Eagle, on Charing Cross Road, drowning our collective sorrows. Izzy had called me on my mobile when the news had filtered through to her that Louder had closed. She’d been annoyed because I hadn’t phoned to tell her straight away. We talked over our various options and soon realised things weren’t too bad. Yes, there were mortgage, credit-card and bank-loan payments to be met but, thanks to the money Izzy had inherited from her dad, we had enough stacked up in savings plans and in various high-interest accounts not to panic immediately. I’d bounced back from this kind of thing before and, she assured me, I’d bounce back again. I’d just have to get myself some freelance work in the meantime and it was with this in mind that Izzy makes herself the first person to offer me work.
    ‘Why don’t you do some work for Femme ?’ says Izzy, who is washing her hands under the tap. ‘You’d be good at it,’ she continues. ‘You could write one of those touchy-feely “what men are really thinking” pieces. You should see the guys we get to write those things: I doubt that any of them has had a girlfriend in a very long time, so who cares what they think? You’re a listening-to-serious-music-on-your-serious-hi-fi-on-your-serious-headphones-because-your-partner-won’t-let-you-play-it-loud-because-she’s-watching- EastEnders type of bloke. There must be millions like you and I’m pretty sure that ninety per cent of Femme readers have got one.’ She laughs. ‘You’d be good at it, Dave. Women would love to know what’s going on in your mind. What am I saying? I’d like to know what’s going on in it.’
    While I have the greatest respect for what Izzy does for a living, in my heart of hearts I only let her get away with it because she’s a girl. I really can’t stand any of that women’s magazine nonsense. I hate the horoscopes and the health columns. I hate the fashion spreads and the makeup tips. I especially hate the sex advice of the ‘how to have multiple orgasms’ type, and the endless features about making relationships ‘work’. To me, writing about music is writing about the really important things of life, while writing about relationships is a great way to persuade fashion houses, cosmetics developers and calorie-controlled frozen-meal manufacturers to part with millions of pounds in advertising.
    ‘Thanks,’ I reply, ‘but no thanks. I’m a music journalist, Izzy. That’s what I do. I can’t write about emotions. I can’t write about relationships. All that stuff’s just too . . .’ I don’t bother finishing the sentence.
    Izzy laughs, clearly amused at the distress the thought of writing for Femme has caused me. ‘You’re right, I suppose,’ she agrees. ‘It was a terrible idea. I couldn’t imagine you writing a piece for us in a million years. You haven’t got the right mindset. I’d ask you for a piece about what men are thinking and you’d write one word: “Nothing”.’
    ‘It’s true,’ I say. ‘Other than the odd thought about naked ladies there’s absolutely nothing going on up here.’ I point to my temple. ‘Men are visual creatures. If we’re thinking about something, nine times out of ten it’s something that’s right in front of us. Like that,’ I say, gesturing at the yucca on the kitchen TV. ‘I can’t begin to count the times when I’ve turned off the TV and thought about that plant – what it would think about if plants could think, whether it would die if it didn’t have a pot to live in; how the word “yucca” came into existence and whether it sounds stupid or not; then finally I think about naked women and go to bed.’
    ‘By naked women I presume you mean me?’ asks Izzy, grinning. She’s heard this particular rant of mine many times before and has previously confessed that she finds it quite endearing.
    ‘Of course. But my point is, my dear wife, that there