Robbie did make me laugh sometimes, but not belly laugh; it was more because of something that had happened, than something he did on purpose. We’d shared a sense of humour like I probably do with Steve. But with Noah it’s different.

With Noah it’s more like with Dad. Dad could make me laugh when he wanted to. Which was usually to deflect attention away from the fact that he’d just missed my birthday or forgotten to bring something home that he’d promised.

So naughty sense of humour had definitely not been on my list. Until Noah. Noah does it because he wants to make me laugh – not because he feels he needs to for his own ends.

I thought cheeky laugh and winks went hand in hand with addictive personality and getting what you want. I think I might have been wrong.

So yeah, when Steve asked me out, he did fit my safe, secure, nothing-like-my-dad list.

But after spending time with Noah, this is all a bit, well, boring.

He’s incredibly kind, incredibly nice, incredibly all of those overused words that are pretty meaningless.

Meaningless.

Like a pretty picture when I’d actually like something a bit edgy, a bit more nuanced. Though obviously not too much: I’ve not had a personality change, just a tweaking of expectations.

Noah is right (gahhhh). I need somebody who has a bit more about them. Sadly. But this is only a practice date, not a lifelong (or even day long) commitment.

Steve just happens to be very good at controlling runaway gym equipment. For which I am grateful. But not grateful enough to agree to a second date. But, hey, I’m having a first date at which the guy turns up, and stays, and we’ve had a lovely time. So that’s a big win in my book.

Part of Steve’s nervousness could be down to the fact that he spotted Noah at the other end of the bar about three seconds after he sat down – even though it is heaving and noisy. Noah isn’t one to merge in with the crowd.

‘He came over and said you’d probably want olives?’ Steve says, sitting down with our second round of drinks.

‘Sorry?’

He inclines his head in Noah’s direction, and Noah winks.

‘He what?!’ I am going to kill him!

‘You don’t like olives?’

‘He told you to get me olives?!’ This is just the type of controlling thing Dad does. Something so minor nobody notices.

Like when you turn round and say that you’d been looking forward to choc-chip ice cream for ages, not the vegan coconut and lime new one he’s insisted you have, he turns round and says, well it’s not worth making a fuss about, is it? So you don’t. You eat the ice cream that you didn’t really want. And Mum drinks the wine that gives her a headache, but that Dad says everybody who knows anything about wine is drinking.

‘Are you okay?’ Steve touches my arm lightly, as though he’s not sure if it’s safe to. ‘I can get rid of them. To be fair he didn’t exactly tell me to get them, it was more an “olives are good here, mate, she devoured a whole bowl last time! Might get you extra brownie points” wink, wink, thing. I didn’t know if he was trying to help or drop me in it!’ He looks even more nervous now.