Wimbledon.

Last night I went a friend’s house and it was lovely. She has a beautiful flat in Wimbledon with cream carpets and that special sort of decorating that has hardly anything in any of the rooms but by Jove you know the items that are there are very carefully chosen. I felt that I should have worn a tie just to cross the threshold.

We drank vats of mulled wine, then went to the pub for pints of Guinness and then back to the flat for more wine and a bit of whisky. I’ve never been a whisky drinker but there was something nice about drinking something that is older than you are. We talked about all sorts of things, but mostly about our mutual friend B who we both adore and my friend, who I introduced her to, who then acted like a real cad. Honestly, some men make me feel guilty for being on the same team

We talked all sorts of nonsense and the real gem was Breadsticks.

I said that for me love was being with someone that you can wake up by sticking a breadstick up their nose. They would be annoyed and chase you just enough to make you collapse in to fits of giggles while they cover you in jam as revenge.

That’s what love is, breadsticks.