1. Fresh underpants everyday.

2. Avoid eating Scampi ‘n’ Lemon Nik Naks in respectable company.

3.Never stay on a bad date longer than necessary.

These, my flirtatious young prunes, are rules to live by. Never waiver. Never flounder. Never deviate.

If my friend Gertie Longbottom (yes, really) had paid heed to said rules, her Friday evening would have told an entirely different story.

She’d had her mincers on a particular young buck for a while so when he finally invited her over for supper, she grabbed the opportunity as eagerly as a toddler reaching for the last fudge-finger. Quite right too.

Dapper from thatch-to-sole Gertie rang his doorbell and awaited her long dreamed of evening to commence.

Finally he answered the door and she was greeted with a real treat for the peepers. Our man, be-trouser’d in cream slacks and socked to the hilt, lacked one key wardrobe ingredient – a shirt.

He ushered her inwards and was swift with the offer of a drink. Well, if Gertie was ever in need of a decent restorative, this was the moment. She gulped down the gin in one swift movement and awaited his explanation.

He’d just come out of the shower, heard the doorbell ring and didn’t want to leave her standing in the cold – perhaps?

He’d split a glass of wine down his front and was in the process of changing – maybe?

Bizarrely the explanation never arrived, and nor did the shirt.

Continuing as if it was perfectly acceptable to great guests semi-clad he proceeded to ask how her week had been, whether she had seen any good films lately and other queries of the same ilk. Well, astonished, she answered as best she could whilst avoiding all eye-to–nipple contact.

He then said he had a surprise for her (as if the bare chest wasn’t enough!) he wanted to play a song on his guitar.

Oh Lord.

Ramming rolling pins up ones nostrils is perhaps the only thing more painful than sitting in silence while some poser bangs out an idiotic tune and sings to you. I mean what is the expected response in that situation? Stand up and dance? Sway your head? Grab a saucepan and attempt to accompany on percussion?

Awful. Just awful.

At this point poor Gertie wanted to bolt for the hills. But good manners prevailed and she stayed…

A clear mistake.

He then asked her to be seated whilst he finished preparing supper….

Beans. On. Toast.

Seriously.

Not even a fish-finger to give it a spatter of class. Just beans. On toast.

Of course she politely ate it and even managed to munch a significant slice of Vienetta for dessert. However when he asked if she fancied watching a film, the thought of sitting through Top Gun whilst he expected her to fondle his now slightly bean–encrusted bare chest was too much even for her breeding so she made her excuses and left.

Had she had followed my advice; she would have bolted the second the naked upper was presented at the door. Hideous.

But then again I don’t suppose I’d be able to regale you with this tale had she had done just that. So for our Gertie I think this is one exception to the rule we can happily accept – but if I ever see her reach for those Nik Naks then I’ll give her a swift one to the chops, some things really should only be done behind closed doors. Fish flavoured crisps, scrumtastic as they might be, are, in my opinion, top of the list.

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