don't actually see Ed for a while. All I can see, when I open the door, is the most enormous bouquet of long-stemmed creamy white roses that I've ever seen in my life, and they completely take my breath away.

No one's ever bought me flowers before, you see. I know that sounds daft, but none of my boyfriends have ever been the romantic type, and I've always longed for someone who would bring me flowers and chocolates.

I was given chocolates once by a very keen man who arrived to pick me up and handed me a box of Milk Tray. I had to give him ten out of ten for effort, but Milk Tray? They should have been Belgian chocolates, at the very least.

And Jon bought me flowers once, but it was only because I'd gone over to his flat and he'd obviously been out buying loads of flowers for himself, and I was so upset that he didn't buy me any that I threw a wobbly, and when we left the flat he stopped outside the flower shop and bought me a bunch of wilting chrysanthemums, which was hardly the point. What I remember most clearly about him doing that was his face. He was so proud of himself because he thought I'd be over the moon, but if anything it pissed me off even more.

And here, on my doorstep, is a bunch of flowers so big it hides the man standing behind, and, as I take the flowers and see Ed, my first thought is that he isn't nearly as bad as I remember him. In fact, apart from the disgusting moustache, he looks rather nice, really, and we stand there and sort of grin at one another because I'm not sure whether to kiss him or whether that would be too forward, and in the end he leans forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek and says that I look lovely.

I twirl around and he hands me the flowers and of course I invite him in. He stands in the living room and looks around and doesn't actually say anything, doesn't say how lovely it is, how clean, how pristine, which is a bit strange because most people, when they come to your house for the first time, compliment it out of politeness, even if they hate it.

I take the flowers and dig out a jug, which is the only thing I've got left since I've used up my one vase for the flowers I bought myself earlier, and as I arrange them Ed stands there rather awkwardly, so I try to make small talk with him.

'Did you find it all right?' I say, for want of something better.

'I got a bit lost,' he says. 'It's not really my neck of the woods.'

'Where do you live?'

'Regent's Park.'

'Oh, really? Whereabouts?'

'Do you know the park?'

I nod.

'Hanover Terrace.'

Jesus Christ! Hanover Terrace! That's one of those huge sweeping Regency Nash terraces that sweeps along the side of the park next to the mosque. I once met someone whose parents live there, and I know that the houses are enormous, and each has its own little mews house at the end of the garden. But maybe Ed has a flat there, maybe it's not as impressive as I think.

'Do you have a flat?'

'Er, no, actually. I have a house.'

'So you've got one of those little mews houses too?'

'Yes,' he laughs. 'But I still haven't figured out quite what to do with it. So how come you live here, Libby?'

'What, in Ladbroke Grove?'

'Yes.'

'It's the only place I can afford,' I laugh, and wait for him to smile, but he doesn't. He looks horrified.

'But it's not very safe,' he says finally. 'I don't think I'd be happy living here.'

'It's fine,' I say. 'You get used to it, and I quite like the fact that there's such a mixture of people, there's always something going on. And it's a great place to score drugs.' I can't help this last comment, it just sort of comes out and I don't know what it is but something about him being so straight makes me want to shock him.

It works.

'You take drugs?' Now he looks completely disgusted.

'I'm joking.'

'Oh.' And then, thankfully, he starts laughing. 'Hilarious,' he says. 'You're ever so funny, Libby.'

I shrug and smile, and then the flowers are in the jug and the jug is on my mantelpiece, and we're ready to go.

'Libby, I didn't say this before but you really are looking absolutely beautiful tonight.'

'Thank you.' And thank God I've learned to be gracious about receiving compliments. For years I'd say things like, 'What? In this old thing?' but now I accept compliments like the sophisticated woman I'm trying so hard to be.

'And I particularly like the scarf,' he says. 'It's beautiful.'

'What? This old thing?' I couldn't help it. It just came out.

'Is it silk?'

I nod.

'I thought so. Shall we go?'

So we walk out the front door and I can't help but grin when I see his Porsche — a midnight-blue Porsche Carrera, which would have been a convertible had I had anything to do with it, but hell, cars can always be changed, and it's still a beautiful, wonderful, sexy car.

And not only that. Ed walks round to my side first, opens the door and waits until I get in before closing it gently, and I almost want to hug myself because I can't believe I'm sitting in a Porsche with one of the most eligible men in Britain, and Jesus, what the hell did I put up with Nick for when I could have had this all along?

'I've booked a table at the River Cafe,' he says. 'Is that all right?'

All right? All right? It's fantastic because I haven't been — it's far too expensive for my meagre pockets — and I've heard all about it and it's the best possible choice he could have made. Plus, and this is important, it's not too straight or stuffy, in fact it's pretty damn trendy, and I think I would have been extremely upset if we'd ended up somewhere too grown up.

'I really wanted to take you to Marco Pierre White's restaurant, but I couldn't get a table,' he admits. 'I tried begging, but they were fully booked.'

'That's fine,' I say. 'The River Cafe is perfect. I haven't been and I really want to go.'

'Oh, good.' He smiles at me. 'I was so worried you wouldn't like it. Shall I put some music on?'

'Definitely,' I say approvingly, reaching for the CDs stacked in the glove compartment. 'You can always tell what a man's like by the music he listens to and the books he reads.'

Ed laughs. 'So what can you tell about me?'

I pull out the CDs and flick through. Oh dear. Opera and classical music. Lots and lots of opera. Wagner. Donizetti. Offenbach. Bizet. Oh God. I rifle through, praying that there's something I know, I don't even mind if it's something I don't particularly like, something like, say, Elton John or Billy Joel, but no. Nothing. So I pretend his question was a rhetorical one.

'What would you like me to put on?' Ed says.

'Well, actually,' I say, deciding to bite the bullet and be completely honest. 'I'm not really that into classical music.'

'Oh.' There's a silence. 'So what kind of music do you listen to?'

'Pretty much anything and everything,' I laugh. 'Except classical and opera.'

'But why not?'

'I don't know. I suppose I never listened to it when I was young, so I never developed an ear for it.'

'How about this one, then?' he says, reaching over and taking a CD out of my hand. 'L'Elisir d'amore,' he says, in a perfect Italian accent, the r's rolling off his tongue. 'I think you'll like this.'

He puts it on and looks at me for approval, and what can I say? It's all right, really, quite melodic, but it's opera, for God's sake, but I can't tell him this, so I just smile and tell him he made a good choice and that I like it.

And then as we stop at some traffic lights I turn my head and notice that in the car next to us — an old Peugeot 106, just in case you're interested — are two girls my age, and they're both looking enviously at the Porsche and at me, and I smile to myself and sink a little deeper into the seat because I'm quite enjoying this. Despite the music.

So I decide that I'm going to make an effort with Ed, even though I suspect he really isn't my type, but surely he could grow to be my type? Surely if he brings me flowers I could grow to like him? Fancy him? Couldn't I? I sneak a peek at him driving and feel a wave of disappointment rush over me, because he's not half as gorgeous as Nick, but then Nick isn't here, and Ed is.

'Tell me about your job, Libby,' he says, concentrating on the road, but trying to be polite.

'Not much to tell,' I say. 'I work in PR on people like Sean Moore.'

'Who?'

I look at him in amazement. 'Sean Moore. You must know who he is. He's the biggest heart-throb since, well, since Angus Deayton.'

'Oh, ha ha. I know who Angus Deayton is! He's the chap on that programme, isn't he? The news one.'

'Have I Got News for You.'

Ed nods vigorously. 'Yes, that's the one. Very funny show. Always try and catch it if I'm in on a Friday night.'

'And are you usually in on a Friday night?'

'Not usually,' he laughs. 'Most Friday nights I'm working late.'

'Don't you ever take time off?'

'To be honest with you I suppose I throw myself into work because I haven't met the right woman yet.'

Now this is a first. I can't believe he's telling me this on our first date. And I'm eager to hear more.

'You mean you want to settle down?'

'Definitely,' he says. 'Absolutely. That's why I bought the house in Hanover Terrace. I thought it would be a perfect home for a family and children, but at the moment I'm still rattling around in it all by myself.'

This is getting better and better. The most eligible bachelor in Britain is desperate to get married and he's taking me out! He's with me! And I can't believe his honesty, the fact that he's willing to admit he wants to get married, the fact that for the first time in my life I'm on a date with a man who doesn't appear to be allergic to commitment.

Although to be honest, I'm not sure about this whole scared of commitment business. I think it's become too handy, a useful phrase that men can bandy about whenever they feel like being assholes. And sure, I do believe there are some men who are genuinely terrified of commitment, but there aren't that many, and for the most part I think it's that they haven't met the right woman yet. Because if a man, no matter how scared he professed to be, met the woman of his dreams, he wouldn't want to let her go, would he? And sure, he might not want to actually get married, but if he were madly in love and risked losing her, he'd do it, wouldn't he?

That's what I think, anyway.

And I'm so used to playing games with men, to pretending that I'm this hard, tough, career woman who's very happy being single and really doesn't mind, no, loves having relationships which involve seeing one another twice a week if you're lucky, that I'm not quite sure what to do with someone this honest.

I decide to ask more questions. To see whether he really is for real.

'So how come you haven't married?'

'I don't know. I thought I had met the right woman, but then it turned out I hadn't, she wasn't the right one. You see, I suppose I'm quite old-fashioned. I don't understand these career girls, and yes, I think it's fine for girls to have a bit of independence, but I'm really looking for a wife. Someone who'll look after me and our children.'

'So you wouldn't want her to work once she got married?'

He shakes his head. 'Do you think that's too much to ask?'

'No,' I say firmly. 'I absolutely agree.'

'Do you?'

'Yes. I think it's appalling that women continue their careers once they've had children. A mother ought to be at home with the children. I know too many women whose kids are completely neglected because they seem to be more interested in working late at the office.'

This last bit isn't completely true, but what the hell, I know I'm on the right track and Ed's so excited he can hardly contain himself.

'Libby,' he says, taking his eyes off the road and turning to me. 'I'm jolly glad I met you. Jolly glad.' And his grin's so wide for a second I think it's going to burst off his face.

When we get to the River Cafe, Ed walks up to the girl standing behind the desk at the front and says, 'Hello!' in such an effusive tone I figure he must know her, but she stands there smiling awkwardly at him, which makes me think that he's this over-exuberant all the time. ' Ed McMahon!' he says. 'Table for two!'

'Oh, yes,' she says, scanning her list. 'Follow me.'

'I hope it's a good table!' he says to her. 'I asked for the best table in the restaurant. Are we by the window?'

'I'm afraid not,' she says. 'But you're as close as we could get you,' and she leads us to a table in the middle of the room.

'Oh, jolly good!' Ed says loudly in his public school accent, and I cringe slightly as I notice how other people in the restaurant are turning to look at where this voice is coming from. 'Très bien!' he then says, in a very, very bad French accent, and I can't help it, I start giggling, because if nothing else he's certainly a character.

'Umm, you speak French?' I say, as we sit down.

'Mais bien sûr!' he says, and it comes out, 'May bienne soor,' and I sit there and wish he'd shut up, and then I mentally slap myself for being so nasty, because he's just a bit eccentric, that's all, and it's quite endearing in a weird sort of way, it simply takes a bit of getting used to. That's all.

And you know what? I have a really nice time. Ed's quite funny. He tells me lots of stories about investment banking, and admittedly a large part of each story goes completely over my head because investment banking is not exactly a subject I know an awful lot about, but he giggles as he tells them, and it's quite cute, not to mention infectious, and I find myself giggling with him and I'm quite surprised at how well this evening's going.

But just because he's good company doesn't mean I fancy him, but then maybe fancying someone isn't what it's all about? Maybe I've been wrong in waiting for that sweep you off your feet feeling, the feeling I had with Nick. And, let's face it, it didn't exactly work with Nick, did it, so maybe I've been looking for the wrong thing.

Here I am sitting with a man who's rich, charming, honest and wants to get married. Most women would kill to be sitting where I am right now, and okay, so he's not really my type, but maybe that could grow?

And as I sit I allow myself to imagine what it would be like kissing him. I picture his face moving closer to mine, and then, yuck! Oh God! That moustache! Yuck, yuck yuck!

'Do you cook?' I'm brought back to earth by the sound of Ed's voice, and I try to push the thought of him kissing me out of my head. Unfortunately, I don't manage to, but it lodges somewhere near the back, which is okay for now.

'I love cooking,' I say. 'But only for other people. I can never be bothered to cook for myself, but my ideal evening would be cooking for my close friends.'

'Gosh!' he says. 'You can cook too! Libby, is there anything you're not good at?'

'Sex?'

'Oh ha ha!' He rocks back in his chair, gulping with laughter. 'Hilarious!' And I sit and smile, wondering who on earth this man is, but not in a bad way, in more of an intrigued way, and the bill arrives, which is always a bit of an awkward time because I'm never too sure whether to offer, but this time I decide not to because, after all, Ed did say he was old-fashioned, and anyway with the amount of wine we've had to drink, plus the champagne he ordered at the beginning, I couldn't afford it even if I wanted to. So I sit back and watch as Ed pulls out a platinum American Express card — platinum! I've never met anyone with a platinum American Express card before! — and when the waitress takes it away I lean forward and thank him for a lovely evening.

'Libby,' he says earnestly. 'The pleasure was all mine. I think you're fantastic!' And I smile because it feels like a long time since anyone's thought that about me, and I'm not sure whether anyone's really felt that way about me, ever. I'm used to being the chaser, the one to fall head over heels in love. I'm the one who's usually sitting there thinking that they're fantastic, although I'd never dare say it for fear of scaring them off, and here's someone who not only thinks it, but has the balls to say it!

I think I could get used to this, and quite frankly if I can't have Nick, then perhaps I can settle for having someone who completely adores me. Even though he hardly even knows me.

We get back in his car and on the way back we have that whole relationship talk where they ask you why you're single, when your last relationship was and what the longest relationship you've ever had has been, and I say we have that talk but actually that's slightly wrong — I'm so busy trying to think of how to avoid saying I'm a complete nightmare in relationships because I'm so needy, paranoid and insecure that I forget to ask him anything at all.

But he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he doesn't say anything as I tell him that I haven't met the right man yet, that I drifted apart from all my previous boyfriends, and that my longest relationship has been a year (well, okay then, nine months, but he doesn't have to know that, does he?). I do mention Nick, but I brush over it, brush over the pain that it caused, is still causing, and I do my best to be light-hearted about it, to say it meant nothing.

Ed nods thoughtfully and if I didn't know better I'd say he was definitely sizing me up for wife material, but maybe that's a bit ridiculous of me because this is only our first date.

Do I ask him in for coffee? I'm not sure I want him to come in for coffee. I'm not entirely sure how to deal with this whole scenario, but luckily Ed pulls up outside my flat and doesn't switch the engine off so I assume he'll be whizzing home.

'Hang on,' he says, leaping out of the car. 'I'll come and get you out.' And he runs around the car and opens the door for me, and, against my better judgement perhaps, I wish my mother could see me now!

'May I see you again?' he says and, without even thinking about whether I really want to, I find myself saying yes.

'Are you free tomorrow?' he says eagerly.

'I'm afraid not,' I say, because okay, I'm only going to my parents, but tomorrow feels a bit too soon, and I know that if I were completely crazy about him I'd say of course tomorrow would be fine, but I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about this. Physically he is so not my type that I decide to give myself a few days' breathing space to think about this one.

'I could do next week, though,' I say. 'Tuesday?'

'Marvellous!' he says, without looking at his diary. 'I'll pick you up at eight, how does that sound?'

'Fine,' I say. 'And thank you, again, for a lovely evening.'

Ed walks me to my front door, and I turn awkwardly as I put my key in the lock, wondering exactly how to say goodbye, and even as I turn he's leaning down to give me two kisses on each cheek.

'Again, Libby,' he says, turning to walk back towards the car, 'the pleasure was all mine.'