‘How was last night?’ my mother asks.
Wild passionate sex… did not feature. It was a friend’s birthday drinks.
‘You’ll never guess who was there!’ I say. ‘Andrew Maclean!’
My first real – in every sense of the word – boyfriend.
‘It was fine actually. As in – we chatted a bit – but – well – I can’t help feeling, with an ex, there’s always an element of competition…’
‘What’s he doing now?’
‘He’s a management consultant!’ I say, laughing. ‘So yeah, not really a competition!’
‘I was going to say…’
Thank you Mother.
First Boyfriend had just observed that we’d been going out for exactly two months. My remark was meant as a reflection on my own dating history (this was my first relationship not involving a man from period drama), but he took it personally.
‘It wasn’t that difficult, was it?’
And I meant it.
At this point he produced a box of Lindt chocolates.
This was the man who would later warn me that life isn’t like a Jane Austen novel. No, because Lindt wasn’t founded until 1845.
On Sunday, Mad Blogs and Englishmen celebrated its two month anniversary. To mark the occasion, I cracked open a bar of Lindt.