‘Oh wow, you’ve got it bad, Lex.’ Sasha giggles. ‘Not sure I ever heard you describe Dom in that way.’

‘What? No, I haven’t…’ I redden as my mind plays back the physical description of Matt I’ve just unwittingly verbalised. ‘Oh, stop it, Sash. All you need to know is: athletic, brown hair and eyes, beard. Probably much like a lot of men around here.’

‘OK, OK. Is he any of these guys?’ She clicks in and out of another three LinkedIn profiles.

‘Nope. Who would have thought there would be so many people called Matt or Matthew who were manufacturing engineers in Birmingham?’

Unwilling to give in, Sasha searches Facebook and Instagram as well, but to no avail.

‘Sash, this is hopeless,’ I say. ‘Let’s just enjoy our night.’

Reluctantly giving in, she puts her phone away as I try to ignore how disappointed I feel knowing I might have missed my opportunity with Matt.

By the time it hits ten p.m., we’ve enjoyed a delicious Thai meal in the restaurant I went to with my team on my first day, and we’re now contemplating our next move.

‘What do you want to do?’ I ask Sasha. ‘This is your weekend.’

‘I’m quite full and the food coma may be clouding my judgement. I’d like to go to a bar and see a bit more of the Birmingham nightlife, but I could just as easily go back to yours and veg on the couch. Also…’ She glances at me and hesitates.

‘You’re wondering whether I’m feeling up to going somewhere else.’

‘Well, yeah.’

‘I’m OK, Sash. Actually, I’m feeling quite good. Makes me wonder if I’ve actually made my fatigue worse by not being active enough.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘What did we agree?’ I raise a reproving eyebrow at her. ‘You’re allowed to ask, but you have to accept my answer.’

‘We did agree that. OK then, I can battle through the food coma. Where are we going?’

I consider this. ‘I’ve no idea. Bars-wise, I haven’t ventured further than Brindley Place yet.’

‘Broad Street is the main nightlife strip, isn’t it?’ Sasha asks. ‘Someone at work told me that.’

‘Yeah it is. And it’s right near here. Shall we start there?’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

We pay our bill and venture into the distinctly wet and chilly late evening air. The rain splashes into growing puddles that mirror the inviting lights of Brindley Place, making us glad we thought to bring an umbrella. As we approach Broad Street, we’re greeted by a sea of well-oiled, boisterous people, whose behaviour as a collective is not miles away from the troop of chimpanzees I watched in a nature documentary recently. There’s certainly a lot of screeching and alpha male behaviour on show, watched over by the local police, and a couple of ambulances standing by.

‘What is this?’ Sasha looks genuinely intimidated. ‘I thought Glasgow was lively on a Friday night. This is more like Magaluf.’

‘Perhaps it’s not for us?’ I suggest. ‘Especially as I’ve already hit my two-drink limit. I’d need to be a good bit merrier to even consider joining that lot.’