I would do anything for love

Paul and I did a spot of shopping this afternoon, at one stage popping into an antiques shop in which one of Bach's orchestral suites was playing. I promptly identified it as being no. 3 or 4 (I tend to get confused between the two, both being in a festive D major with very similar orchestration), at which point the dealer started coming on to me, big time.

"It's such a relief to come across someone who knows their classical music. It's like those newspaper adverts where they say 'interests: music', but we all know what kind of music: clubbing."

Honestly, it couldn't have been more obvious if he'd concluded his sentence with the words "at CC Blooms" (the meat market of the Edinburgh gay scene). We were laughing the moment we left the shop, but Paul could not believe the cheek of the man. "I mean, I was right there!"

Trouble is, I need a desk and there was a seriously gorgeous Victorian one in the shop, very reasonably priced. Paul agreed I should go and have another look at it once I've measured the space I've got, particularly as he reckons the dealer would be willing to bring the price down a bit more. Though he might require something in return ...

In the immortal words of Meatloaf, I won't do that.