The worst thing about dating again – worse than the apps, worse than the capital outlay, worse even than the moment when she looks at you over the dinner table, tilts her head, and says, not unkindly, ‘Oh!  Is this a date?’ – is having to go to flower shops again.  

When you buy condoms you’re not expected to dictate a card explaining why you’ve bought them

When you buy condoms you’re not expected to dictate a card explaining why you’ve bought them

There is a theory that the reason women like flowers is because men have no interest in them – and so they mean more than a meal you’re also eating, or a show you’re also watching – but that’s not true in my case. I rather like flowers.  I’m not one of those men who are baffled by the florist’s opening gambit – ‘What would you like to include?’, which for most men means ‘Name some flowers’ (and feel very pleased with yourself if you get beyond roses). This is probably the result of having a mother who was a keen flower-arranger, and whose entire social life was based around flower club.  (At her funeral, the church looked like Elton John’s dressing room: all her flower club pals had brought their A-game.) ........

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