One day in the office, we were all discussing how much fun it would be to go to a cricket match (an India-Australia match was on) and whether we could scam tickets out of the Sports Editor (I worked for a newspaper then), when my phone rang.

It was RG. “Do you like cricket and good company?” was his opening line. (Yes, he really said that. What a player.)

“Erm, I like good company but I’m not sure about cricket,” I replied. Turned out RG had tickets to the match and was asking me to go.

But but:

a) I didn’t know him from Adam. And I mean this literally. I couldn’t even remember his name.
b) I had publicly (to my friends) announced just two weeks ago at my birthday party that I was not going to be hooking up with random people in bars. Yeah, I had had a couple of other such “encounters”. Which shockingly all ended very well despite the triviality of the relationships and the very real possibility that the guy might turn out to be a complete psycho. But anyway, I was supposed to be past all that flinginess.

I did a quick poll in the office and they were all go for it. Well, first they went, “Wait, so you met another random guy?” and then they were, “But it’s cricket, you have to go.”

Which didn’t sound like sane advice to me but the only other person I could find online at the time (we worked the night shift) was my cousin’s boyfriend who was very preoccupied and just said “go” without thinking.

The person I needed to get was Curly because she had actually seen the specimen. Only she was in another city. I had almost decided to go, on the wave of office approval and cricket fervour, when Curly picked up. “You say yes to this and you’re going to be stuck with this guy for the rest of your life,” was her ominous warning.

So, I turned him down. I told him to call me after the match and we’d meet for a drink. But we didn’t.

To be continued.