It was the final straw, the pointless argument that was the nail in the coffin of my disastrous on/off, mostly pen-pal friendship with David 1.0. You simply cannot call what we have been resuscitating every now and then a ‘relationship’, given we’ve not had sex since October, and then it was disappointing. The vintage physical contact took place in my lovely room at the Rosewood hotel in London, where I was staying for work. He had brought sex toys and a blindfold, so there was no skin on skin, no actual kissing, merely him rummaging, as though wanting to find Marmite in the back of a cupboard. I was not aroused. Instead I felt annoyed at the blindfold, given I could no longer admire the twinkling erotic edifice that is the London Shard.