WANTED: Cruising Classes

I had a plan this morning. I'd stayed at Snow's one-woman pad in Crew Shond on Sunday night, which meant I had to get the bus into town yesterday morning, therefore missing the opportunity to stare at my Boyfriend on the Train.

So the plan this morning was to get up early, do my hair brilliantly, wear the last suggestion of my Hermes aftershave and flirt my socks off.

Plans never work.

I got up late, didn't have enough time to make my lunch, legged it to the station, got cramp, realised my season ticket had run out and had to queue up at the machine to get a new one.

An unexpected twist was that there was a bona fide sex pot standing in the queue in front of me. I looked at my watch and decided it was more important to look at him than move to the shorter queue at the other machine to make sure I got on the train destined for my boyfriend. (I'm such an imaginary slut.)

This new creature in front of me was de-lish. He was ever so slightly taller than me, and as I am 6 foot 2, this is no easy task. He had mousey blonde hair, but nice mousey, not bland mousey. He had a jawline that could have won Most Chiselled Award and he clearly hadn't bothered shaving this morning (but it looked good - he wasn't one of those Men With Blue Faces who have to shave on the hour every hour). And he was wearing Chanel Allure. I know because I got as close as I could to breathe it in without getting arrested. It wasn't Allure Sport, sadly, but it was Chanel, so I'll let it pass.

All in all, he was a hunk in a suit. With a lovely grey winter coat cinched in the right places and very scrummy indeed.

I stared at him the whole time we were lined up and did what I usually do in this instance: imagine his name, his job, where he's going to take me on our first date, how much his mum loves me and how long it's going to take for him to ask me to move into his lavish pad.

Dream over - he got his ticket and dashed up the stairs to get the train. I got my ticket in record time and flew up to make sure I got on board too. I couldn't find the new man in my life, so I sat down and prepared to have a nap.

Then I realised that in all the excitement of getting a new boyfriend, I'd sat in the wrong carriage to catch a glimpse of my long-term crush. When we stopped at the next station, I jumped off the train, pelted up the platform and boarded on the carriage I normally sit on.

As punishment for forgetting about my long-standing lover, he didn't get on the train this morning. I can only assume that when he didn't see me yesterday, he spent the day in tears and ended up swallowing a lethal cocktail of drink and drugs last night. (The real reason is probably because all the trains were delayed and so he got on an earlier one that would have arrived when I should have, but let's not dwell on that.)

The point of all this is, I now have two gorgeous men who I have seen with my own eyes and therefore know they really do exist and they both get on my train. And one of them must live quite close by.

So, why can't I strike up a conversation with either of them? The one at my station was splendid indeed and I toyed with the idea of saying: "May I just say that jacket is amazing."

Is that a spiffy opener, or the worst sentence a man has ever uttered?

I need to enroll on a seminar on How to Cruise the Local Gays because I just don't have the know-how.

I blame Christmas.