When is a date not a date?

Question: When is a date not a date?

Answer: When it's merely a lunchdate with an ex-colleague you used to fancy. But this doesn't mean that you won't get nervous, turn up late, sweaty and flustered and mortify yourself at least 6 times in the hour. So, yes, pretty much like a date.

Take yesterday for example. I agreed to meet up with Jonas, a guy who used to work in my office. When I started at this company, there were two rival gangs of homos - the one I was in was quite bitchy and was up the far end of the office and the one down the front was much bitchier and, I felt, slightly superior to us. When I got promoted and moved to the 'better' end of the office, Jonas was the only one in that bitchy group who bothered to talk to me.

I didn't fancy him per se - he really wasn't my type, all muscles, skin head and perma-tan - but we had a similar sense of humour and spent most of the time taking the piss out of each other. When he handed in his notice, I suddenly felt rather drawn to him. This could be something to do with the fact that he was leaving and maybe I felt it was safe to fancy him as he would soon be gone - but we don't have time to open that can of worms today.

Cut to yesterday and I'd arranged to meet him on Blackfriar's Bridge. I wore my new white Converse trainers, took my aftershave to work to have a 'freshen up' before I left, and I felt super nervous. Felt like a date to me.

The main cause of concern was the greeting. We'd kissed each other goodbye after work drinks many times, but all other contact had happened in the office, and as my old feelings of 'Do I fancy him? Should I fancy him?' were back bubbling under the surface, I was worried that I might accidentally jump him. I saw him, I crossed the road and we said hello. There was a split second pause, then he moved in to my left cheek, but I moved in for his right cheek, I corrected myself, but so did he and we ended up rubbing noses, then he arched his neck and managed to save things by planting a harmless kiss on my right cheek.

The next 50 minutes were spent with me trying to redeem myself and bring myself back from the pit of mortification. I rambled on about every subject under the sun - drifting from plans for Christmas, my new-found love for the US TV show 'The L Word' and whether or not David Hasselhoff will be in next year's Celebrity Big Brother - until he brought himself down to my level by spitting chicken sandwich with lime and pepper dressing all down his jumper.

After that I felt like we were on an even keel and it made the goodbye cheek-kiss effortlessly embarrassment-free.

We've arranged to meet nearer my office next time, so I assume he doesn't hate me. I just hope he didn't spend all afternoon emailing those bitchy moxes to tell them how embarrassing I was.