Mr Bastard was utterly charming. A little like my father, who can switch on the charisma as soon as a skirt whooshes past, catching his eagle eye. It only took a week before I received an invite for 'supper'.

'Supper?' I said, unconvinced.

'Supper', he repeated, very firmly. What did I say about confidence and men who seem to know what they want? I have always wished to be lead, gently but steadily, wherever I wanted to go in the first place. How many men can do that?

Back to today: Mr Vroom is making full use of his helpfulness as a star neighbour, and he definitely does not 'um' and 'er' about his suggestions. Even Mr Vroom, though, has taken a year and a half to work out that branches under-water hold a very powerful potential in terms of seeing more of your younger and flirty neighbour. I have helped along the way, of course. Nowadays I have moles in the vegetable patch that must be exterminated, and the need for a very long extendable ladder to hang my brand new tapestry.

These are not entirely excuses, of course. The combination of circumstances forces me to ask for assistance: we have very high ceilings, we don't own a long extendable ladder, and my husband is too busy keeping us afloat in our beautiful farmhouse to bother with hanging tapestries at the weekend. I also don't own mole-traps; besides, being an absolute townie at heart, I am slightly squeamish about the bloody business.

Mr Bastard's invitation for supper was light work for him, merely involving driving to the restaurant, eating and paying for the bill. I was single, free and ready to rip his suit off him by the time we had tucked into the starters.

Fast-forward to today, when I find myself strangely coy about meeting up with somebody I have known for eighteen months, by the veggie patch, to discuss the best way to destroy the little critters.

However, whilst Mr Bastard's conversation was stilted at first and ragingly disconnected at the end of the meal, after he had downed two bottles of wine all by himself, Mr Vroom keeps steadily finding reasonable ways to see each other.

'I have an extendable ladder, Lucrezia, and I shall be pleased to let you borrow it; if you like, I can help with hanging the tapestry too.'

How's that for a chat-up line?

The 'supper' was not a gleaming success, although, frankly, I didn't care about Mr Bastard's Good Samaritan skills, or lack of. It was pretty obvious to me, though, that we would be seeing each other again, possibly with fewer clothes on.

In Mr Vroom's case, though, I am intrigued by the uncertainty; excited by the possibility that he may be rather taken by me; kept on my toes about the equally likely chance that he may just be a friendly older neighbour.

In any case, do you think I should be wearing a skirt when we hang that massive tapestry up the wall?