She smiled and walked back to her seat. Should I try to follow up her pleasantness by approaching her at her booth? The very thought of this filled me with dread. I’ve never been good at striking up conversations with strangers, especially the opposite sex. I needed to come up with a suitable opening line. I knew what would work for me if the roles were reversed – something like: ‘Do you prefer even or uneven surfaces?’ ‘Do you wish that Sports Direct also sold fresh meat?’ ‘Have you ever needed to use a tourniquet in your work environment?’ I would respond well to that sort of thing because of my excellent imagination. Not everyone does, best to play it safe. I could ask her about her shoes, ask her if she found them viable. Or maybe whether she found the fizziness in her drink helped her to feel young and pertinent. Ah fuck it, I’ll just sit down near to her and put the ball in her court.

I picked up my pint and sauntered over to the semi-circular booth where she was seated. There were two small wooden tables served by the booth, and I placed my pint on the empty one. She looked up at me as I sat myself down and I gave her a quick smile then looked away. I’d positioned myself about four feet from her, which seemed a polite distance for a stranger to be.

‘Were the bar stools too hard for your arse?’ she enquired.

I pretended to be surprised – even shocked – that there was someone sat in the same booth.

‘Oh, hi. Sorry – world of my own. Didn’t quite catch that?’

‘I was just saying, was the bar stool getting a bit tough on your arse?’

‘No, not at all. Oh, I see… well, yeah, a bit…’

‘You fancied a bit of Dralon luxury…’

‘Yeah,’ I said, stroking the material on the bench. ‘I like to call it velveteen. Makes it sound a bit less bungalow.’

‘Velveteen. I don’t think I’ve heard it called that before. It sounds a bit like a pudding, doesn’t it? A frozen one, but classy.’

‘Absolutely, nail on the head. I was just thinking that earlier. I don’t usually like puddings, but I’d make an exception for a chocolate and orange velveteen.’

We both laughed, her somewhat unconvincingly and me with a bit of an unnecessary flourish. There followed a little awkward hole of silence that I felt compelled to fill.

‘So, the book you’re reading, is it about ducks?’

‘I’m not really reading it, to be honest. It’s just a prop to discourage people from approaching.’

‘Shit, I’m sorry, I honestly just needed to park my arse somewhere more benign. I’ll shut up.’

‘No, I don’t mean it like that. I approached you, remember. And, actually, I’m glad of the chat. I don’t like puddings either.’