It never happens to me

The morning after I had been out with Tandy, we were both catching the 08.00 bus to Hoi An (fate?). Unfortunately, we weren't on the same bus. But it wasn't a problem because I had taken her email address.

So I sent Tandy a message suggesting meeting at 19.00 in a particular bar. I was so excited all day. As the big moment approached, I put on my second-least-creased shirt and my lucky pants (the only semi-clean ones).

As I set off for the bar, I was 90 per cent confident of pulling. Only once in my life have I ever gone out with such a level of bravado before (in fact, a confidence factor of more than 10 per cent): to one of Nicola Evans' parties in the late-1980s - and I failed.

When I arrived at the venue, I was shocked to find it had shut down. Now unlike Hue, Hoi An has dozens of bars and clubs dotted all over the town. So the chance of us meeting had suddenly severely diminished. I wandered round in an increasing sense of desperation - and after 20 minutes bumped into Tandy.

She certainly hadn't made as much as an effort as the previous evening and I immediately felt that there was something wrong. Almost the first thing she said that she was so tired. We found a restaurant and sat down to order. Tandy opted for water. As deep and personal as the conversation had been the previous evening, tonight it was perfunctory and serious. Her lack of interest in being there rubbed off on me and rather than trying to win her round with my gift of the gab, I turned into a sulky schoolboy. At one stage, she asked why I was fed up. I just said that I had a lot on my mind.

We finished our meal, paid the bill and I walked her in the direction of her hotel. She said it was well out of my way and that she could do the last part on her own. I didn't even try to kiss her.

Feargal Sharkey, I know where you're coming from.