So having refused him lunch on Sunday, he emailed me to have lunch on Monday. At Scott's! This is one of the poshest restaurants in Mayfair, a place to where I aspire to be invited. I replied in the affirmative, although it wasn't, if I'm honest, massively convenient. It meant I would have to wash my hair again and possibly get a re-varnish... Still, small price to pay.
When I woke up Monday morning, it occurred to me I didn't know his surname. No way was I going to get all putzed up and go into town to enter a restaurant to meet a man called Carlos without knowing in whose name the table had been booked.
"Good afternoon, Madam."
"Good afternoon. I'm meeting... er ... Carlos?"
They'd think I was a hooker.
So I emailed and asked what name the table was in and actually, could he kindly call me to confirm the lunch date. Nada. I waited until noon, getting ever more agitated, then emailed again to say:
"I'm sorry but I have a radio broadcast to do (true) so might be a little late. Also, I'm not comfortable meeting a complete stranger without a telephone conversation first. Please call me."
Zilch.
I binned the whole idea and went about my business. Luckily, I had not washed my hair!
Later in the day, I get an email: "Sorry. I got held up in a meeting. I leave for NY tomorrow but will be back in May. I'll contact you."
I fell about laughing. I should live so long, but I won't be holding my breath!
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