'Did you know that a shrimp's heart is in its head?' says Wilson.
'No,' I smile, 'I didn't know that.' I pause, 'but did you know that the human heart is roughly the size of a fist.'
'Are you trying to out-fact me?' says Wilson.
'Yes,' I say.
This is our second date and we're sitting in Galicia's at the top of Portobello Road. It's hotter than Hades in here and I'm beginning to really regret my choice of woolly jumper and retro Scottish kilt.
It doesn't help that we're being kettled from all sides by a large group of Spanish men knocking back sherry and a big party of shouty twenty-somethings, none of whom seem to want to sit down.
'Sure you're not too hot?' says Wilson as he spoons some more garlic shrimps onto my plate.
'No,' I say, reaching for my glass of water. 'I'm fine.'
In fact, I'm far from fine. I'm slowly boiling alive but I can't take off my ill-advised jumper because I'm only wearing short sleeves beneath and I don't want Wilson to see the reptilian scaling on my left arm.
As I take several long gulps of water, I wonder at what point a restaurant becomes a sauna and I can get them on the Trades Description Act.
Wilson's telling me about a recent trip to Madrid, but the noise level is ear-splitting. I can't ask him to repeat himself yet again, so instead I drift into a little fantasy about us going on holiday together.
Somewhere nice and cool - which demands long sleeves at all times. Maybe Reykjavik. I've always wanted to go there. Just hope Wilson wouldn't want to do anything silly like sit in one of those outdoor sulphur baths.
The thought of hot, steamy sulphur baths has nudged my temperature up another few notches. I imagine the blood bubbling away in my head, slow-cooking my brain into a thick mulchy broth. I know that above 105 degrees, brain damage can occur. Maybe it's already set in? Panic flutters in my chest and my heart begins to race. Desperate to pre-empt a panic attack, I excuse myself and hurry to the loo.
Once inside the cubicle, I rip off my wooly jumper and shirt, and place first my forehead then my fiery cheeks against the cold tiling of the walls. While I'm cooling my right cheek, I spot the window above the loo, so I hop up onto the seat and wrench it open. A blast of deliciously icy air soothes my inferno skin and I wonder how long I can stay here without Wilson thinking me weird.
'Thought you'd done a runner,' says Wilson as I take my seat again.
'Nah,' I smile, 'there's still some of that tortilla left so I decided to come back.'
Wilson laughs and re-fills both our glasses. Then he stares at me, his head cocked to one side.
'Why's your jumper on inside out?'
To be continued next Friday...