The photograph shows an elegant man in suit and tie with a round face, an open smile and salt and pepper temples.
        For our date I dig out a dark business suit I haven’t worn in ages and dare a pearl necklace.
        When he shows up he still has the round face with the smile and the temples, but he wears striped shorts and an orange, barely buttoned up shirt which exposes just a tad more than I want to see of his hairy gut.
        He is something in sales but hates it and the dressing up it entails.
        His hobbies are singing in a rock band and performing Shakespeare with an amateur group, which visits retirement homes all over the country.
        His mother is dead. One day he noticed his father never called him so he stopped calling his father. As a consequence he hasn’t heard from him in over fifteen years.
        We go to my favourite Thai restaurant in Crystal Palace where he orders one appetizer and one main course to share.
        I wonder if I want to meet him again when he asks if he can have some of my sparkling water.
        I nod.
        He takes a sip straight out of the bottle.
        The polite little waitresses look it me with big, round eyes. I shrug apologetically.

He calls a few days later and leaves a message. He is in a car or somewhere noisy and I don’t understand what he says.
        I don’t call back but chat him up online the next day.
        He ignores me, so I delete him.