CHOKING down another mouthful of hot lemon I reached for my last lozenge.

I now had 15 minutes to shake off the symptoms of flu before my hot date jiggled in through the door.

I would never have arranged a romantic interlude when ill but as we had already had to reschedule once I was reluctant to cancel.

Also, my misplaced belief in my own powers of rejuvenation and over the counter remedies made me confident I would be in perfect working order by the time evening rolled around.

Now I was sitting in a restaurant shivering and sweating in the grip of a fever. Then she came gliding into the room looking beautiful.

I considered telling her I was feeling a bit rough in a kind of “I usually look much better than this” tone. However, I feared an introduction about the germs I was carrying would make any later exchange of fluids unlikely and I didn’t want her mental image of our fledgling relationship to be of me snivelling into a tissue.

We got on well, although I was concerned my clamminess and occasional convulsions may make her think this was the first time I had been within a yard of a woman.

The situation was made a little more uncomfortable when the manager came over to seat us ahead of a group who had arrived earlier for some reason.

He was such an Italian stereotype I half expected him to tell me I would thank my stars if I went Go Compare.

He addressed the querying looks of the neighbouring table with a flamboyant and heavily accented: “I have to seat them first they are in love.”

I thought love was quite a strong statement for a first date and judging by the fact she immediately turned bright red I’m guessing she agreed.

Earlier on that day, I had noticed my lips were getting chapped and, unable to find any lip salve had invested in one of those tiny tubs of Vaseline that are all the rage nowadays.

To avoid looking like a sickly infant I excused myself and went to the men’s room whenever they felt a little dry or I needed to blow my nose.

The fifth time I left the table I started to wonder if my still luscious lips would make up for the acorn-sized bladder she must now believe I have.

The meal passed without incident although I found it difficult to make the light-hearted banter I had planned as my aching limbs, blinding headache and congested airways proved a distraction.

I kept talking to ensure there was no awkward silence but in my weakened state I kept forgetting my story threads.

As our evening drew to an end, I hoped I had done enough to secure a second date and a kiss – it turned out later I hadn’t.

I reached into my jacket pocket to get my wallet only to have my tiny tub of Vaseline fall into the middle of the table.

Oh no, would she think bringing the item on a first date was a sinister act, or perhaps that I had cavalierly tossed it into the public arena as an arrogant sign of how seduced I thought she was by my scintillating charm?