"Can you hold my book on Hitler, while I go change into my running leggings?" asks my ex-boyfriend, standing outside a large row of toilets.
So started one of the least romantic nights London has ever seen.
Let me explain: to mark the coming of Valentine's Day this year, I have decided to spend a cold, February night on a "Champagne Experience" around the London Eye with my ex-boyfriend, who hates both heights and wine.
Perfect, right? To be stuck in a small, slightly juddering, locked glass box hundreds of meters above a grey and freezing Thames with a man I lived with for six years before the saddest breakup I have ever known. What could be more romantic? Honestly. Name me one thing that could possibly be a more perfect celebration of the cellophane and bullshit fiesta that is Valentine's Day than to watch a 6'3 tower of sober, male unease as you peer out at the winking lights of New Scotland Yard and Wembley Stadium?
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