"Hello!" I say to the man at the bar. He turns and looks at me, and then he smiles.
"Two things you should know," he says, "My name's Joshua and I'm a complete slut."
He is also Irish and has "piercing blue eyes". I am, of course, both confused and grateful that I keep meeting men who proudly advertise their frequent flyer status.
Of course, it all goes horribly wrong. Why wouldn't it? It's my line of work. Oh, I'm evasive, but it doesn't help. His piercing blue eyes widen. "What kind of spin-off tat?" he asks, "Cos I'm fairly sure I've seen you on-"
"Oh my god! I am the biggest Doctor Who fan in the world!"
oh please no.
"I'm desperate to write for the show. Who can I talk to? You must know."
no, really I don't work there any more. Sadly, there's always been a plan in my head for how this is supposed to happen. I finally meet a sane Doctor Who fan and we spend our days happily making sweet love while rearranging our DVD collections to neither's satisfaction. Only this isn't how it's working out...
"I have a boyfriend."
"And I drive him mental with Doctor Who."
course you do.
"He never lets me talk about it."
why would he?
"And, you know, much as I'd like to sleep with you, I think I'd prefer to have you as a friend. Wow. This is so exciting."