So then Hawksey lures me in a week or two ago with the rather lovely suggestion of 'let's go on a date'. 'Tuesday 30th Nov' he says. 'It's a secret', he says. 'I thought it would be nice for us to go out on a date', he says. 'Just you and me'.
By which point I was thinking – aah. how many men suggest dates and what a nice idea. Bang on romantical. The old bugger is the right man to marry, lovely thought. Game on.
So the night comes and I'm told to wrap up warm. Not that we're going to be outside all evening but its bleddy freezing and several layers needed. So we duly leave the house looking like Mr & Mrs Michelin man, just to be sure.
And he won't tell me where we're going. 'It's a surprise' he says. 'Guess what it is', he says.
So I'm wondering away… 'Is it ice skating at Somerset House and a nice dinner somewhere in town?' 'Is it some Christmassy carols, or a big tree, then drinks and a hot to trot Top table night out?'. 'Is it a quirky show at the Roundhouse or somewhere, something cool?' He still won't tell me.
So we stop off in Leicester Square and have a pint on the way. At which piont he says 'you really want to know don't you?'
I've been ever so patient and am still wondering what the lovely romantic surprise is, that must sure lie just around the corner of Trafalgar Square or Covent Garden. So he reaches in his pocket and finally reveals the brilliant tickets, to….
ARSENAL VS WIGAN??
HUH?????????????????????????????????????
And our hot date was duly spent, huddled in a blizzard in the Emirates, watching 2 teams I don't support!
Luck, luck, lucky old me,…… Sx