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The Greek. Part Two.

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So I saw the Greek again and it was lovely. We went to a pub in Hampstead (a pretty, old part of London) and then got dinner. He paid. I don’t know if this makes me a crappy person but this kind of thing now means a lot to me – not because I want a man to pay my way but because it feels like a sign of old-fashioned respect.

Just as we did the first time we met, we chatted for hours. He is clever and well read and a very good listener too. It was easy and he made me laugh.

I won’t go into the ins and outs of all our conversation because I’m not sure he’d like that but he said some very nice things, which made me feel embarrassed at the time but which I ran over and over in my head when I got home.

He said that the day before I came up to him in the coffee shop he’d been talking to a friend about his ideal woman. Then ‘this beautiful woman’ walked up to his table and seemed to be everything he had on his list. ‘And that was just your appearance. Then we started talking and it got even better. I could not believe my luck,’ he said.

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