Another great date...

His name is Alistair. He’s 34 and while he looks his age he still has that naughty, twinkly-eyed, boyish (but very chiselled) charm thing going on. His hair is dark brown and cropped fairly short, but you can see that it’s starting to go salt and pepper grey at the sides which I’ve always found really attractive. Then there are his intensely blue eyes, great skin, full kissable lips - the list goes on.

Bodywise, we’re talking total rugby player (he was actually wearing a rugby top) - big and muscled, but not defined. When he leans forward over the table to talk to you all you can focus on are the mountains of his chest and biceps, stretching through the cotton of his top.

Last night Alistair came over to the flat for a late dinner – chicken breast wrapped in Parma ham and potatoes roasted with basil and olives. He’s very intense and I kind of bookish, I guess. When you talk to him you're totally confident that he's completely focused on what you’re saying. And then, just for a few seconds, you can see that he’s quietly considering what he’s going to say in return. Have you ever noticed how when someone does that it makes you really listen to whatever they subsequently say so much more seriously?

“Hmm. That’s a really interesting point. Put like that I guess I can see that whale hunting isn’t so bad after all.”

Anyway, we shared stories of our work, our youth, our families – some sad and some funny. And we laughed and laughed (oh, his laugh!) until there were tears in our eyes and the muscles in our stomachs ached.

And the best thing? He doesn’t drink alcohol! Only tea!

It was the perfect evening. And as we all know, there is only one perfect way to end the perfect evening.

“Alistair, er, shall we, er…?” (With head, gestures in direction of bedroom)

“Erm, sure. So anyway, it was really nice to meet you Christopher! Maybe see you soon?”

“Yeah, definitely! Great to meet you! Night Alistair! Night Victoria!”

From my seat at the kitchen table I watch them walk up the hall and disappear around the corner and into Vix’s bedroom.

She sent me a text this morning. All it said was "HUGE!"

Smug cow.