Right everybody, pay attention to this first bit or the rest of this piece will be extremely confusing. Today’s column brings with it two important (but unfortunately probably temporary) changes for you.
Firstly, gone is all the introspective girly stuff. Yes, readers, for one time only your special guest correspondent is a man. I’ll call me Mr W, because I generally come before Miss X. What was that? That’s right – we’re finally getting some sex on these pages. And about time too, I would have thought. Takes a man to do it, no doubt, but in this case not very successfully…
So how did this come about? Well, I’ve known Miss X since university days, and I suppose we always had a bit of a crush on each other but we were never single at the same time so nothing ever happened. Also, her long-term boyfriend was about seven feet tall so I certainly wasn’t going to try anything. After uni we vaguely kept in touch in a sporadic sort of way but I think the last time I actually saw her was at a friend’s wedding, and since he now has three kids you get an idea of how long ago that was. Plus I got married and moved abroad, so we weren’t exactly bumping into each other in Waitrose. I eventually got unmarried, she got unengaged and the sneaky little minx dropped me a casual email, so I did the decent thing and took her out to dinner so we could wallow in collective depression.
It turned out that she wasn’t having any of this mutual post-relationship misery at all and was on great form so I soon found that I was actually enjoying myself in the company of a non-psychotic woman for the first time in ages. And she looked absolutely great. Kylie-great. Way hotter than she was at 20, and being involved in fashion she dresses seriously well too. I mean, she actually uses suspenders, and not only if she thinks she’s going to get lucky. Which is not to take anything away from whatever she wears over her totes racy underwear – that stuff is nice too, I seem to remember having noticed at some point.
We went out to a very rustic Iberian tasca (I thought she would have had enough of chic wine-bars on London King’s Road by now). It was one of those places where the wine comes in jugs rather than bottles, and the jugs come in all sorts of different sizes, so by the time we were on the aguardentes that accompanied the coffee I have no idea how much we had put away. At this point I think I must have realised that she might be up for it since the restaurant I had chosen was in Portugal. Did I mention that part? Never mind. What it did mean was that as we walked back after dinner we had our arms around each other in the pretence of mutual support.
Then things got interesting: we staggered past a bus stop, I made some joke about her blog and suddenly we were snogging like teenagers. Again, in her case. Gentlemen, if you want to pull this girl then might I suggest using public transport? At this point, so overwhelmed by the passion in my kiss, her knees went weak and she sort of swooned in my arms. ‘Oh God,’ she murmured. Still got it, old chap, I thought, but then it turned out that she had actually just snapped the heel off one of her Manolos on the cobbles. Very sexy Manolos they were too, the sort of boots that you could definitely wear lying down if you were into that sort of thing. Well, I mean she would be wearing them lying down, not me of course.
And the story continues…next week…
Want to read Miss X’s version of catching up with Mr W? See here.