After a brief fling with a rotund middle-aged man I had ordered from Facebook, I found myself dating his much more appealing son.

At some point I was going to have to come clean – but not yet. We were dining at a fine Spanish restaurant in Brockley and our animated and engaged conversation was the envy of the other diners. We were discussing his collection of leather bound 17th century Spanish poetry first editions.

When he suggested he fly me to Nice for a holiday, I decided I would prefer to go where the other holiday-makers weren’t so beautiful.