'What is it?' I whisper to Geoff. We are standing in a Pop-up gallery under the Westway staring at one of my friend Meg's sculptures.
Geoff frowns at the heap of old metal kettles painted red, with a big man's brogue balanced on top. 'It's a pile of crap.'
I lean forward on tiptoes and peek inside the brogue. 'Size 14. Disappointing.'
Geoff rolls his eyes and downs his third glass of Gallo Shiraz. He doesn't share my fascination with the larger foot.
'Guess who has the biggest shoes in the world,' I say. 'Matthew McGrory from Pennsylvania. Size 28'. I hold my hand off the floor to indicate the height of an average-sized poodle. 'Pretty big, eh?'
Geoff shakes his head and turns towards the bar.
I scan the room again. Meg is in the far corner being interviewed by The Grove magazine. There's no sign of Wilson. Part of me is relieved and another part is disappointed. I even did some preparation for the re-meeting by flicking through a book on Creative Visualization that I recently reviewed. It told me to imagine the best possible outcome for this evening, running the desired rose-tinted events through my head like a mini film.
So instead of picturing myself stumbling up to Wilson, wobbly with wine, while babbling an incomprehensible explanation of my previous bizarre behaviour, before collapsing on the floor in a full-blown panic attack, I creatively visualize myself calmly sipping a sensible soft drink while chatting amusingly and informatively about modern art.
But now he's not here and it was all a waste of time.
Creative Visualization is a load of old guff.
'Pop-up galleries, pop-up restaurants, pop-up cinemas,' Geoff returns with a bottle of Shiraz. 'Next there'll be pop-up nuclear power stations.' He swigs from the bottle, smattering his shirt with yet more red stains.
'Excuse me.' A tiny woman pushes past me towards the crush of people at the bar. I stumble backwards. There's a loud metallic crash and several kettles clatter to the floor, taking the brogue down with them.
'Oh dear,' chuckles Geoff stepping aside, presumably so people know it's me not him, who has felled the kettle/shoe sculpture.
I squat down and try to shove a couple of stray kettles back where they came from, but they're having none of it.
'Hi.' I hear a familiar voice above me.
'Hi.' I clamber to an upright position, brogue in hand.
'That's a big shoe you've got there,' says Wilson.
'I've seen bigger.'
Wilson's mouth twitches into a grin. It makes me want to kiss him.
I sift through my pitiful knowledge of modern art for something amusing and informative to dazzle him with, while creatively visualizing pressing my lips to his.
'Guess who has the biggest shoes...' I stare as a childlike arm snakes itself around Wilson's waist. It's attached to the tiny woman.
She smiles up at him, fluttering ludicrously long eyelashes. 'Aren't you going to introduce me, darling?'
To be continued next week...