Twenty-eight years ago approximately I remember being in some swanky restaurant in Soho with a very hot friend of mine who I “very much” wanted to get to know…  a lot better. She was receptive, of course, and all this was part of the mating dance. We were at a Parisian style “brasserie” and there was a trio in the corner hammering away – with considerable talent, I might add – at a bit of hard bop. The dating game is very much a game of Bridge and we had been communicating tricks all evening with suggestive glances. Some more wine? Alexandra threw up her arm, demanding attention, and looked around. The place was almost empty by this time, but some lazy fucker smoking a fag slouched in a corner caught her attention: 

“Excuse me….YOu!!! Yes you, sir….could we have some more wine please?”

“Darling…I’d love to be of help, but I’m just the fucking piano player.”