"You going already?" I am putting my clothes on and saying goodbye to the man of my dreams. He's incredibly posh, arrogantly handsome, and lives in Mayfair.
"Yup, I'm having supper with friends."
"Supper?" He curls his lip, "Supper or Dinner?"
"I never know what to call it. It's not supper is it?"
He shakes his head. "No, it's never supper. What do you do for a living?"
"At the moment, I'm a writer."
"Succesful? Probably not if you call dinner supper. But there we are. I must be off too. I'm having dinner at Claridges."
"Not really. I live there. My family are also writers. Just successful ones, rather than aspiring. Goodbye."
Needless to say, I am in love.