I selected my target in the church, before the ‘I dos’. I relocate him. He’s tall, dark and handsome. Admittedly, he doesn’t look that bright. Rather too in love with himself to allow room for anyone else. Perfect. Deep and meaningful is an over-rated phenomenon. Shallow and meaningless but well endowed gets such a hard press.

It’s important to pick out a target early on in the proceedings and it’s important to let him know he’s it. I smile. Directly at him. If at this point he looks around and tries to locate the recipient of my smile, I’ll instantly go off him. I like my men to be arrogant enough to know that I’m flirting with them.

He passes the test by grinning back at me. Only turning to catch his reflection in the mirror that hangs behind the bar. He grins again. This time at himself. The difference in appreciation is fractional. I don’t mind. Vanity is a safety net. I flick my hair and turn away. Job done.

Issie and Josh are still fighting their way to the bar. I call them back.

‘What? I was nearly at the front,’ Issie complains.

‘Don’t worry, drinks are on their way,’ I assure.

‘Oh.’ She relaxes into the chintz chair. Josh lights a fag, trusting me. We are all familiar with my routine. Josh and Issie know all about me.

Josh is like a brother to me. We met aged seven over our suburban fences. It is this meeting that makes me believe in fate. We met when our families’ stars were crossing. His in the ascendant. Mine spiralling downwards.

That summer we shared Rubik’s cubes, cream soda and an uneasy sense of impending change. Our childish sixth sense told us that we were both powerless in the face of adult whim. The five-bedroom detached, in Esher, Surrey, that my mother and I had thought was a dream home turned out to be a temporary residence. That summer my father announced that he was in love with another woman and couldn’t live without her.