I didn’t really think about the guy paying for most things when I went out with the blood-red-artwork-owning-ex, who is 14 years my senior (he had actually lied about his age twice, which he admitted to my mum, who replied, ‘Don’t worry, WLG likes old men’.
‘What about the Trustafarian, who is younger than me?’ I asked.
‘He’s like an old man.’).
The blood-red-artwork-owning-ex clearly enjoyed spoiling me and showing off his wealth, often sending his driver to pick up me and my friends. I didn’t think about it too much with the Trustafarian either (he was more discreet, but still made grand romantic gestures).

But when a relationship is a little more down-to-earth, it can feel a bit presumptuous if you never dip your hand into the Mulberry Bayswater. It can also become a bit of a repetitive game when you reach for the handbag and he says to put it away.

I had a rather embarrassing moment after brunch at Gallery Mess, sitting outside in the sunshine nursing a hangover with Hot Danish last Sunday. I insisted on paying because he gets everything, but it was badly timed; he’d already asked for the bill so the waiter handed him the card terminal. HD tried to make light of the moment of awkwardness by saying, ‘She’s my sugar mummy.’ The waiter shifted uncomfortably and I sulked.

The previous evening HD and I had attempted to make our relationship a little more grown-up and conventional, hosting a dinner party for eight. I cheated by heading to Daylesford Organic (next time I’ll remember which vacuum-packed dishes I buy in case guests ask what they’re having), and there were too few saucepans so the mashed potatoes were cooked too early, left in the oven to stay warm and served on a frying pan. As soon as the last of the guests left, HD headed to the bathroom to be sick. He and Plan B had drunk far too much of a friend’s homemade Limoncello, plus most of a bottle of whisky.

I awoke to some garbled messages on my phone on Sunday morning; Plan B had fallen asleep and ended up in Gunnersbury; another friend had also fallen asleep but fortunately hers was the last stop and the youngest two had ended up getting the night bus home after missing their trains.

While ironing his shirt on Monday morning HD had a bit of a joke-rant about how he doesn’t have a woman to look after him like some other guys in his office. Had he forgotten that I’d had to call his friend the previous morning on his behalf because he was too hungover to speak, let alone play tennis?