So, my date is going very well with Marco.
He's handsome, Italian, cultured, sensitive, muscled, and has a warm laugh. He knows about food, he knows about wine, he knows about fun.
He can talk about the world of insurance without it seeming too dull, and used to work for the Italian Government policing arms exports - so I now know quite a bit about sandwich armour.
It is, in many ways, a good date. And then we get onto the subject of books. I chatter away about The Mitford Girls, and how PJ O'Rourke has turned travel writing on its head with Holidays in Hell.
He nods, and smiles and says, "Ha ha, yes, because the last book I bought was a rare one. The Necronomicon."
"Oh - is that the book by Roberston Davies about the-"
"No - it is very hard to find. Obscure. Secret book. In Linear A."
"You can read Linear A? I'm impressed."
"No, it is parallel text. You must be careful with it. Dangerous. You see, it is a book of dark knowledge and black magics."
He went on to explain about how every person who's tried to publish the book has suffered disaster, and that it was only safe to read the book if you'd been inducted into it by special spells. Luckily he had. Which was nice.
He explained that some readers over the centuries had grown full of themselves, and abused the protection spell, casting the spells rather than simply read them. As a result, they had all died. Alastier Crowley died a terrible death of cursed cancer, HP Lovecraft committed suicide. Both a matter of minutes, hours, months or years after casting a spell from the book.
Grinning, I rushed off to the loo, and texted all my friends. I haven't had such a disastrous date since the Belgian car salesman last year who was so boring I spent it yawning and eyeing up someone else entirely while he yammered on about manufacturing trends in four door Walloon saloons.
I know Lee accuses me of getting rid of men because of a tiny little flaw... But it's quite something to be sat opposite someone and not feel ashamed to tell them you like Dr Who.