And it’s true, Peter has never had a problem finding a date, especially after it got out at university that he came from old, plentiful money. Schools of girls started circling him, angling for a shot at the title. They even earned their own label, the Bodley Babes. His groupies tended to be very tall and very pretty, but also very dim and more attracted to Peter’s money than to Peter himself. Proudly, I was never a member.

He has the sense to look a little sheepish. ‘Well, yes, I am OK at finding dates, or at least they’re good at finding me. But I rarely find an actual girlfriend, and my mother is getting increasingly anxious about my happiness – well, probably her happiness, which is currently tied directly to the prospect of me having children.’ He puts on a high-pitched, comical voice. ‘“Time is ticking, Peter. And I want grandbabies.” So I thought it was worth trying something different. Of course, it would be easier if she actually liked any of the girls I bring home. The only female of the species that I have introduced her to and that she’s liked is you.’ This is a nice surprise to me as I always thought I had a face that people forgot. ‘Truth be told, I’m also here supporting a friend. The chap you just spoke to, Al. He says he comes to these things a lot but rarely gets a date out of it, so thought I’d tag along and offer any insights I might have. Not that I’ve ever actually been very good with women, but I might be able to give him some pointers. You know. How did you think he did?’

‘Can I be honest?’

‘I would never expect anything else.’

‘Terribly. He started off OK, but then he got out a list of unnecessarily intense questions.’

‘Ah, I wondered what he was scribbling on his way here. He’s even more lost than I had feared.’ There is a brief pause, and Peter looks at me for a little longer than I’m comfortable with. ‘So if you’re not doing anything after, can I take you out for some chicken? I know a fancy Nando’s around the corner.’

The odd look gone from his face, I have no qualms in saying, ‘Sure. But I would be happy with regular Nando’s too. Just so you know.’

The end of speed dating, and the promise of chicken, can’t come soon enough. Spotting Peter after the final round is easy; I can’t actually see him, but his laugh can be heard even above the noise of the post-speed dating din. Physically reaching him at the bar is harder than it should be though. At five foot one (on a good day), I’m often too short to register for the average-sized human, which can either make navigating crowds really easy (if the crowd size is exactly right), or really hard (if the crowd size gets too big for the allotted space, as it is this evening).