Brendan scribbled a number down on one of his Post-it Notes and slipped it into my coat pocket. He slapped me on the back and made his way out of the door. He hadn’t laughed once since I returned from the toilets.

I was glad he’d gone. It was a relief. I’d convinced myself that the dark-haired lady might have an interest in me. I ordered another pint and asked the barman if there was a match showing tonight in the other bar. He didn’t know. I ordered steak and chips from the bar menu and, as I was doing this, the dark-haired lady got off her seat and walked to the centre of the bar, just a few yards up from me, and ordered a white wine spritzer. I felt a shudder of nerves pulse through me and found myself staring at her shoes. They were a beautiful burgundy pair of Doc Martens with dark blue laces. She had tied them with a double bow. The loops of the bows were identical in length and diameter. It was a classy set-up. I don’t like high heels; they look torturous and contrived. These shoes were a good start. I looked away and took a sup from my pint.

As she watched her drink being prepared, I got a better chance to assess her looks, and in doing so my chances of ever being by her side. She was petite, about five foot six inches, wearing light blue Levi jeans and a rolltop black jumper. Her messenger bag was still resting against her hip. Her hair was shoulder-length and thick with a clinically straight fringe lying across the middle of her forehead. I couldn’t see her eyes but was thinking brown. She could have been a teacher or a restaurant manager, maybe even something to do with pottery. She was even prettier than I had first thought. I didn’t stand a chance.

As she left the bar to return to her seat, she took an unnatural curve in my direction. It was a deliberate meander, not a drunken one. I looked down into my beer.

‘Your mate abandoned you, has he?’ she asked.

‘Yeah… err… yeah, he did. Good spot,’ I replied with an unfortunate chipmunk grin.

‘Well, never mind, it’s a nice place to be.’