Susie

We arranged to meet at Liverpool Street station. When she suggested MacDonald's I got a little concerned but I needn't have worried - it was suggested as a landmark not as a suitable venue for a first date.

Susie stands 5'1" tall, so when I saw a short blonde woman, neatly and conservatively dressed in black slacks, woolly jumper and dark coat (it was really chilly last night) reaching for her phone, I knew it was her and approached.

"Colin?"

"Susie," I replied.

She smiled. "You look nothing like your photograph."

"And I had no idea what to expect," I said, since her profile has no picture.

She suggested we walk down to Shoreditch to find somewhere nice for dinner, so we started off in what turned out to be the wrong direction. About half an hour later, with the assistance of a helpful taxi driver, we eventually found somewhere suitable to have dinner.

We ordered glasses of water and shish kebabs and started chatting about.... everything. We covered our respective separations and ex-spouses, kids, animals, cookware, travel, work, Princess Di, terrorism, sex, drugs.... you name it. My dinner got cold, but I didn't care. I was having dinner with an attractive 38-year old woman who is also intelligent, funny, doesn't smoke and doesn't like pets. We even share a penchant for Twinings Earl Grey tea. I was enjoying myself from the moment we set off from the station, but the more we talked (and talked and talked), the more comfortable, relaxed and happy I felt. With her permission, I took a picture of her on my phone but it in no way does her justice. She is absolutely lovely.

Downside? Um....

By the time my bum got sore and the level of background noise had subsided substantially, I looked at my watch - it was nearly midnight. We had been sitting there for about 5 hours!! It was one of the longest dinner dates I have ever had. And almost definitely the most enjoyable.

We walked back to Liverpool Street together, and after a little deliberation, I offered her my arm. To my delight she confessed that she had been considering taking it before I offered but had decided against it. Then we started communicating non-verbally - a gentle tug on my arm meant 'don't cross the road right now, the lights just changed and there are cars coming', a quick flick of the finger meant 'I think we turn right here'. I was delighted.

At Liverpool Street, we stopped at the barrier to the platform where her train was waiting. We agreed it had been a lovely evening, and we wanted to see each other again soon. I kissed her delicately on the lips, briefly, not lingering too long. Then I kissed her forehead, and instantly regretted it. What sort of message did that convey?

I got the last tube back to London Bridge but had missed the last train home. Spending twenty minutes standing in a queue of drunk people while stone cold sober at 1 a.m. in late November is no fun, but eventually one cabbie asked if anyone was going south-east. I told him where I wanted to go. He paused for a second then said, "Come on then," and set the meter running.

We talked about drunken revellers, the fact that I was still sober (and why - needing to drive home from where I had left my car at work), and about my first date. Why was I telling a cabbie about my evening, I wondered. The answer was obvious - I had enjoyed a wonderful evening with a fabulous lady, and I was happy.

When I picked up my car I switched from the radio to a CD and while driving quickly along deserted country roads, headlights on full-beam, I sang along joyously to Pat Benatar:

"Oh sweet redeemer
Will you save a place for me
I am tired and I'm seeking restitution.
Oh, will you heal me
Will you take away my pain
What I'm looking for is absolution."

I crawled into bed at 2:30 a.m. this morning, exhausted but cautiously excited. She had sent me a text while on her way home - "thank you for an enchanting evening. Susie X" I have locked it in my phone so I don't delete it.