I switch to a black crayon - a crayon as black as the night, as dark as the word 'responsibility' - and start to fill in some of the shapes.

'You can forget about going out,' he says. 'You can forget about sleep ...'

And then I catch a strange look from the first important person. It's only for a split-second, and then gone again, as she quickly grabs her wine glass and looks away. Maybe I zoned out. Maybe I was lost a little too long. Maybe I looked rude. And then I see it.

From her angle, it would appear I have absentmindedly drawn a childish representation of a lady's nonsense.

Yes. A lady's nonsense.

I panic, and immediately start to change it. I didn't mean to do this. I didn't mean to draw a lady's upside-down nonsense. I was just drawing shapes! But I have to change it! So I add a wild red circle around it, but that only seems to highlight what I've done, so I add little wings and turn it into a butterfly. I start to hum, as if I'm casual and calm, but for goodness' sake, I've just inadvertently drawn a lady's nonsense on a table in a fancy restaurant.

This was an accident - a coincidence - but this also is the kind of thing far-reaching psychotherapy papers are based on. I was only drawing shapes! Shapes and other shapes! But somehow those shapes conspired against me and made me not only draw a lady's nonsense, but somehow angle it straight at a lady! And all while talking about my unborn child!

She looks back after a moment or two, and to give me the benefit of the doubt, says, 'So what have you drawn?'

I freeze.

Just ... a butterfly. A mad butterfly.'

She says nothing. I grab a purple crayon and start to scribble it out.

'Killing it,' I say, jokily, but then I bristle, because now I sound like a psychopath with woman issues.

We start to talk about the economy again, but no one's very interested, and I can't help but notice that at the end of the meal, no one seems all that keen to order dessert.

TYPECAST

An exciting e-mail has arrived from a man I've only ever briefly met.

'Would you like to be in a videogame?' it reads.

A videogame! Me, playing a character in a videogame!

'There's one part I think you'd be absolutely perfect for! Up for it?'

'Yes I am!' I write back. 'Let's do this!'

And then he writes back and tells me not to get ahead of myself, as he'll need to audition me, and they're seeing other people, and it's still early days, and it's not solely his decision, but, y'know, good luck.

I turn up to a small room in Soho, and the man is pleased to see me.