Fernando

Years ago, when I was single for about 2 weeks, I met this guy. We started seeing each other. I have no idea why as I was attracted to neither his looks nor his personality. He was a mature man of about 44 at the time, but claiming to be 10 years younger. I, of course, didn't believe him and my suspicions were confirmed when I saw his date of birth in his passport. One must be very confident and self-assured to knock 10 years off their age, some can do it, but most can't and he most certainly couldn't, in fact I'd say he should have added on 10 years.

Although Spanish, he lived in London and his name was Fernando (it wasn't but I'm protecting his identity). He lived in a poky bedsit with a Thomas the Tank Engine duvet set on his bed - he really was an odd character. He had money though.

Our first date was a Spanish restaurant. He talked me through the menu. I was familiar with Spanish tapas and could speak the lingo. He excitedly introduced me to all the staff, even the kitchen porter, as though we had just got engaged. He ordered for me from the menu - I was surprised and a bit annoyed but accepted it graciously thinking maybe as he'd patronised this place several times he knew what to order and what to avoid. The food was delicious, but the company was intense and uncomfortable.

Marjorie (Felchman), my best friend, thought I was bonkers. She'd met Fernando and thought he was a loser. I was prepared to give him a second chance as he'd just invited me out again, this time to a Lebanese restaurant. We met up in north west London and found the restaurant. It was lovely inside and the staff welcoming. Our menus were brought to us and we inspected them for about 5 minutes or so, sometimes chatting. When the waiter came to take our order, Fernando got stuck in, ordering the starters, mains and even drinks without looking at me and then handing back both his menu and mine to the waiter. I sat there mouth agape. He'd ordered things that I didn't like, like dolmas. What bothered me most was that he'd ordered for me as though I didn't count! I can't remember how the rest of the evening went, I suppose I endured it as I was getting a free meal even if it wasn't what I had chosen. After that night I decided Fernando was a creep and resolved not to see him again.

I can't quite remember, but Fernando was still around a few weeks later, languishing at my flat in Pimlico. We'd "broken up" but I think I was conveniently using him because I needed some travel advice on getting to San Sebastian from Bilbao in Spain (or the Basque Country). I'd only been there once before but by train and had never flown there. Fernando was there when I booked the flight. He gave me some useful tips and he went on his merry way.

A week before the flight, I got a call at work from Fernando, excitedly telling me that he was going to Bilbao too, in fact he would be on the same flight as Marjorie and I and that when we got to Bilbao we could stay with his mother and brother. I insisted that no, we did not want to stay in Bilbao with his family, but that we wanted to get on a coach and head for the coast. This conversation went back and forth until I slammed the phone down. When I told Marjorie, she was equally livid. We decided to call Fernando and ask him to change his flight, if at all possible, because we felt he was stalking us (this we omitted to say) and he chuckled and said that he'd only been joking about the flight. We were somewhat relieved but not entirely.

The day came for us to fly to Spain. I had been a nervous flyer for some years so was in the bar with Marjorie, downing pint after pint. Our flight was called and we boarded. We looked around nervously to check that Fernando wasn't around. No sign of him. The flight wasn't off to a good start when I emerged from the toilet and as I was walking down the aisle people started snickering. It was only when I got to my seat that Marjorie pulled a long piece of trailing loo paper from my jeans. I sat down and ordered a gin and tonic to calm my nerves. It wasn't long before I was wearing the gin and tonic, the flight was exceedingly turbulent.

We arrived in one piece at the airport and we were waiting for our luggage. We grabbed our bags when Marjorie said she had to use the toilet. I sat on my suitcase and waited. Suddenly out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fernando. He hadn't seen me. I ran into the toilet and banged on the door and shouted, "Marjorie! He's here! What do we do?!" The toilet flushed and Marjorie emerged red faced with anger, "We stay here for a few minutes, til he's gone!", she spat. We waited in the cramped toilet for what seemed like an eternity.

When we finally left the airport we saw Fernando queuing for a taxi, he was quite near the front of the queue so we knew he'd be away soon. We whistled nonchalantly and turned back into the airport for a coffee. We laughed at how close we had been to spending our holiday with Fernando's elderly mother and brother in the outskirts of dusty Bilbao rather than enjoying the night life of San Sebastian.