It's true what they say about men and buses...

Spending a week consuming my body weight in cheese and wine at my parents’ new home in France was something I’d been looking forward to for months – but now John had arrived on the scene, I can’t pretend I wasn’t a little worried. Could the initial buzz of a successful first date last all that time when I was hundreds of miles away? I wasn’t convinced.

However, much to my surprise, it didn’t seem to be a case of out of sight, out of mind. Every day, without fail, there he was in my inbox saying all the right things. And by the time I touched back down on the asphalt at Stansted, I had just a few inconvenient hours in the office to get through before date number two: a couple of after-work G&T’s by the Thames.

Sadly our Indian summer wasn’t in evidence that day and when I started shivering, we thought it best to head back to The Lock in Camden – scene of the first date…and as it happened, scene of our first fight.

Well fight might be over-stating it – it was more of a debate resulting over John’s shocking confession that his all-time favourite band was Coldplay. I mean, come on, Coldplay? The least ‘rock’ rock band of our time. Here I was thinking I was dating a musical genius, and yet he seemed to have no discernable music taste at all.

Okay, yes, I may have been a little harsh – it was the gin talking – anyway, he seemed to take it well, simply silencing me with his lips every time I overstepped the mark. We reached a truce when we discovered one band for whom we both shared a liking. “See the difference between Coldplay and Elbow is that Elbow have throwdown,” I preached. “You know that raw passion that just grabs you? As opposed to sending you to sleep which seems to be Chris Martin’s forte.” (Yes, I’m annoyingly opinionated when I’m drunk). “So would you say I have throwdown?” John asked, as we left and he cornered me for another kiss. “It would appear so,” I laughed, managing to prise myself out of his arms just long enough to throw myself in a taxi as he looked on pleadingly.

“I think your boyfriend misses you, love,” laughed the driver. “He’s NOT my boyfriend!” I fired back, shocking even myself with the force of my response. But It was true…things with John were great – I felt totally at ease around him, he made me laugh, and there seemed to be a mutual struggle to keep things decent once our lips touched - but there was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on that made me think he might not be boyfriend material.

However that little puzzle wasn’t to be solved this weekend. Much as we were both evidently keen to tear each other’s clothes off, V Festival beckoned for John and as he drove off for a few days of debauchery with his mates the next morning, I was headed to a friend’s birthday BBQ in London Fields. A day where I expected to get a little tipsy, acquire a touch of sunburn, and have a laugh with my mates – what I hadn’t bargained for was meeting someone new.

But somehow after 8 hours of solid drinking, I found myself spending most of the evening sat in the beer garden with a personable young chap called Rob. The gin had brought out my feisty side again and looking for another debate, I started probing his taste in music. Only Rob surprised me on that front – his was flawless, and we soon abandoned the debate in favour of a mutual love-in over our shared favourites. Still, when it came time to leave and Rob asked for my number, I was genuinely surprised. I hadn’t been looking at him that way at all, but could I? Maybe.

What to do? While one side of my brain was saying: ‘Don’t do it. What about John?’ the other was putting forward a convincing case for the other side: ‘You’ve been on two dates, he’s not your boyfriend, you shouldn’t put all your eggs in one basket, what harm can giving him your number do?’ The second voice won out and as Liv and I drove off in a cab, I tried to ignore her staring at me incredulously. “Well you’re becoming quite the little femme fatale, aren’t you?”

“Hardly,” I scoffed, “besides, I’m not very good at it – I’m already wracked with guilt.” And on cue, my phone rang…

“Hello? John? Are you there? I can’t hear anything over the music…” then I realised he wasn’t actually listening, he was in the middle of a crowd at V festival holding his phone up so I could hear the song that was playing.

“It’s looking like a beautiful day….” Elbow sang out, as I groaned and dropped my head in my hands.

Things were about to get complicated.