‘She looks quite moody in her pictures. I’m generally scared of women with big fringes. They always seem more noble or judgmental, or both. She seems to wear a lot of dungarees and Breton tops.’

‘She does love a Breton top.’

‘What did you fall out about?’

‘It’s too involved to go into at this stage. But I think she might be leaving me.’

‘Leaving you?’

‘And London. The whole shebang.’

‘God, I can’t imagine leaving London. I am going to live in the city forever. I feel as though the capital is the perfect place to continue my studies of love and life. So many hearts, lost and hunting.’

‘What’s going on in your dating life?’

‘Oh, it’s a ride, for sure. You’ll have to get on this! I’m thinking of changing my Tinder profile to men and women.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m sick of the men. I am increasingly sick of men.’

‘Such an extreme response though, for a heterosexual.’

‘I might not be a heterosexual.’

‘Not even a sex tourist; a sexuality tourist.’

‘What’s wrong with tourism? Tourism is how you find out whether you want to emigrate.’

The next time I take stock of my whereabouts, I am in the smoking area of the same bar – a tiny New York-style black iron fire escape with a few ferns waving from the landings. Six or seven of Nicolette’s media friends are with us. I cannot remember a single one of their names, but I am enjoying telling them what I think about everything very much and in that way they are my most treasured audience to date. I also find I have acquired new and abundant knowledge on matters such as globalism, juvenile correctional facilities, and the output of Radio 4. Someone asks me whether I am familiar with the work of Rembrandt. I say: ‘Was he the one who wrote the theme tune to Friends?’ No one laughs. I fear this is because few of them are familiar with the work of Friends.