I resist the urge to make a lazy sexual innuendo.

‘Great. Cool. Super. I’ve, uh, left your coffee on the side.’

‘Thanks.’

‘No problem.’ I roll my eyes internally. Maybe a little externally too. I try to walk away, which is hard to do considering my flat is only made up of one room, and decide to give up with both the flirting and the walking away.

‘So how long have you lived here then?’

He is talking to me! This could be easier than I initially thought. Ugh, I hope he doesn’t talk too much, like some taxi drivers and hairdressers. Maybe I should be more careful. He does know where I live. Who knows what else he’s got in that bag.

‘Not too long. About a year. It’s nice though. I like living by myself.’ That’s not being careful, that is being reckless. He could be a serial killer. You shouldn’t tell serial killers that you live alone.

‘Yeah, I have a couple of friends who live right round the corner. There are some nice pubs nearby. The Angel down the road does a lovely Sunday roast. But I have to watch my head on the beams, they’re quite low and I’m quite tall, nearly knocked myself out once.’

I have never seen or heard of the Angel. ‘Oh yeah, I know where you mean. And lucky for me, I don’t think I would have a problem with the beams.’ I gesture weirdly at my head, which I somehow feel will communicate that I’m talking about my height.

‘Ha, you’re probably right. You should go. Although last time I was in there, my friend Rich, who bloody loves to get naked, got naked too early. I think he’s banned from there now, which is a sadness for us all.’

‘Probably not that sad for everyone – like unsuspecting members of the public. Is there an acceptable time to get naked in public?’

‘Ha, no, you’re probably right. But he loves it. Can’t get him to stop.’

The naked conversation makes me feel as though we are flirting with danger. I feel very exposed, metaphorically naked if not literally, so I remain silent and stay standing close, but hopefully not too close, leaning up awkwardly against the kitchen counter.

From what I can tell he fiddles about a bit more, blows on something, and then declares that the boiler should be fixed but I will need to bleed the radiators.

It’s at times like this that I feel like a pathetic, ignorant girl. I know that bleeding radiators is something that people do, but I do not possess the knowledge of how to do this.

And I think he can tell by the look on my face that I’m panicking.

‘Do you want me to show you how to bleed your radiators?’

My relief is obvious. ‘Yes please, that would be great. I know it’s something that I should know how to do, but, well, I don’t.’

‘No problem. I’ll show you a couple of times, and then you can do the rest, but don’t worry, I’ll supervise.’ His smile is dazzling. ‘We’re going to need some paper towels or an old tea towel.’ It’s the sexiest thing anyone has said to me in months.