You place your hand on Claire's and stare lovingly into her eyes, the reflection of the gaudy pub lampshades on the ceiling visible only to you. The clamour of patrons a the bar just a few feet away feels loud, but after 5 minutes you don’t hear it anymore. All you hear is Claire, telling you about her ‘fur baby’.

Your Smirnoff Ice bottle tips over, you weren't aware you knocked it, maybe it fell itself in protest? This date had already caused a lot of raised eyebrows between friends, or maybe it was jealous it wasn't being held as tenderly as Claire's hand. You tip it back up as Claire grabs her purse, pulls out some tissues and hands them to you to mop up the sticky malt liquor.

You go back to holding hands but the conversation has stilled. You stroke her hand as she strokes her own Smirnoff Ice bottle. The bottle is seeing more action than you, you think to yourself shamefully, and you thrust your own half empty bottle aside, angry at its attempt to ruin the mood. Claire's hand retreats back to her own body as you arch over further desperately clinging to it.

You realise how desperate that must seem and snap out of it sliding back to your chair, as your food arrives. It's not until later you will question why exactly you ordered bangers and mash. in the meantime you mash the sausage with your fork, mixing it with the potato and shovelling it into your mouth like a ravenous pig. Claire looks at you concerned as she begins to eat her fish and chips.

In the opposite corner of the room is another couple, they look stern as they drink from blue WKD bottles, You wonder what they are discussing maybe something deep like the meaning of life? or what exactly is the flavour of ‘Blue WKD'

You look down at the aggressively flowered patterned, burgundy carpet, dirty from the mass of feet that have shuffled over it and still damp from when you spilt your drink.

Claire twirls her fork, she looks to the left a couple kisses between long glances at their phones scrolling through some kind of feed, to the right a pair of younger girls sit people-watching, giggling about something as they drink pitchers of cocktails.

It's probably you, they are laughing at, they are probably live-tweeting your disastrous date. You turn back to your meal and scrape the last of your meal into your mouth, throwing your fork down against your plate triumphantly. You look up to see Claire shovelling a handful of chips into her mouth, she notices you watching her and gasps.

You pick up your half-spilt bottle on Smirnoff ice and down it. Maybe you aren’t so different after all.

The hand-holding seems to be over, even the couple kissing to the left is now absorbed in reading the menu, the two girls to the right are munching away on burgers and even the stern looking couple are sitting in silence now.

You glance again at Claire and stand up shaking her from her trance. Walk around the table towards her, kiss her on the head and lead her from the pub, into the cool air, leaving two lonely Smirnoff ice bottles on the table.