21 August - Little Italy & Living on a prayer

I go to a 37year old b’day dance at Little Italy in Soho. I recognise the owner from twenty years ago. I tell my host that there was a time when all we had was the Soho Brasserie and Bar Italia and that when Little Italy opened it was great as was possibly before Conran revolutionised how we eat in London. But am hazy about dates. She doesn’t care. The place on a Thursday night is not so much about food as about cheesy music. Tony Bennet, Frank, … Bon Jovi!!! Yes, by the end of my evening (approximately 4 hours before the end of the others' evening), we were shouting along to Living on a Prayer.

My attempts at talking to male strangers came to nothing. I was only talking to them in order to provide them as possible dates to the various single women in the birthday party and including the feted one, and one bloke I was with. Each exchange was nice but brief. I had to conclude that I'm too old. Nobody continued the conversation /asked for my phone number. The last time that happened was at the Burberry sale and it was one of the French security guards. Ivan. See? it was so rare I still remember the name/have the piece of paper, though of course I couldn't call. Wonder if he'll be there at the next sale.... Am depressed.

Following day I write mock email to colleague who’s training to be a therapist and I pretend to need advice, and ask why men not interested no more? She replies that maybe it’s the stupid TWO gold rings (both looking suspiciously like wedding bands that I wear on the wedding finger).that deterred them. This cheers me up immensely….for a few minutes till I remember that since when does a wedding band stop anyone? And those guys were on their way to drunkenness which would have made them care even less about my honour and status. No, the stark truth is that they can tell how old I am and they don’t wanna know…