"How will I know who he is?" I asked my best friend Sally at the office.

"Easy, I’ve thought of that. He’ll be the one carrying ‘The Daily Mail’ newspaper."  Sally smiled in that organized sort of way of hers.

I was beginning to wish that I’d never agreed to this blind date. Who on earth went on them anyway? Weirdoes and sad cases like me, I thought to myself. It had sounded a bit of a laugh at first when Sally had told me that her brother, Alan, had come back to Wales to live. Divorced and living in Australia for the past 15 years, his wife was still out there. She had absconded with the office manager at work. Now Alan was back wanting to make a fresh start. The only trouble was after 15 years he’d lost touch with most of his friends, so yours truly had agreed to step in.

"Don’t look so worried Lynda," Sally chided me, giving a nudge with her elbow. "Honestly, you’ll really like him. He’s so romantic, you know. He likes to wine and dine the ladies."

Yes. I could guess the type, a real Don Juan if ever there was one. I didn’t like the sound of him at all. As I sipped my coffee during our break-time, I thought about the sort of man I did like. He didn’t even have to be good looking as such. He just had to have that something special about him. Charisma, maybe.

He would be the sort who would be happy to walk in the rain. We’d talk about absolutely anything until the early hours of the morning. Just happy to be in each other’s company, sometimes not talking -- in companionable silence. I was brought back down to earth as Sally slid a red box across my desk.

"Here’s the Valentine card Graham sent me!"

On the outside, it was padded with red roses on the cover and lots of hugs and kisses inside. Yeuch! Sentimental Graham. Honest, dependable and boring. I was jealous, really. It was ages since anyone had sent me a Valentine card. Simon’s must have been the last in 1998. He gave me a beautiful card. The verse made me cry to realize how much he loved me. Then he made me cry again, by dumping me the following month for a vivacious red head. Men could be such rats!

Still, I had tonight’s date to look forward to didn’t I? After work I took a long hot soak in the bath with lots of bubbles and a glass of Asti Spumante. I let the day’s events wash over me with the romantic strains of Burt Bacharach playing on the CD in the bedroom. 

I chose not to wear my new dress. My mother always said to wear what makes you feel good and what you’re comfortable in. That way you’ll be more relaxed and at ease. So I chose my little black dress topped off with a black and white spotted scarf. The dress had done the rounds: 3 weddings, 2 funerals and a dinner party. Sounded like the title for a film.

When I arrived at the Fontana de Trevi Italian restaurant, I was a little early. I stood back by the church obscuring myself from view. I could see who was turning up without being visible that way.

At that moment, a young, well dressed man in a gray suit rounded the corner. Was that him? But no, there was a young lady walking towards him. When he saw her, his face lit up, and as if by magic, he produced a single red rose. She seemed delighted judging by the way they hugged and kissed. Newly in love lovers. I watched them disappear into the restaurant. A man standing outside was looking at his watch. He was so scruffy I hoped it wasn’t him. He had obviously been stood up. Looking at his watch one more time, he walked off into the night.