The story so far: Our hero Clive makes a good impression with cuddlesome Catherine by fixing her Ipod and a cup of Cheapsavers Gold exposes his French rival as a coffee snob.

Catherine sends the frenchman packing and Clive and Catherine embark on their first date, a shopping trip to Cheapsavers.

All is well until Catherine appears to have switched to Posh Italian Decaff...

Since that fateful moment when Catherine reached for a jar of Decaffinated coffee at Cheapsavers, our relationship took a nose-dive. Waiting in the check-out queue, our conversation became increasingly forced and stilted and, apart from a few cheap jokes about the number of cleaning products I’d bought, Catherine maintained a stony silence.

It was a Sunday morning and I'd not seen Catherine for several days. I was walking down the stairs to get a paper when I heard this odd panting sound from around the bend in the staircase. Fearing a pervert of some kind, I crouched against the banister, waiting.

"Bloody lift (pant, pant) Why does it pack up (pant) just when I really need it? (pant)."

I recognised the unmistakable tone of Catherine's voice; authoritive and yet stimulatingly sultry and feminine. She appeared, head bowed struggling breathlessly up the stairs.

Even in her exhausted state she looked magnificent, if a little loud, in a purple leotard, pink tights with bright mauve sweat-band around her forehead. What a figure she had!

"What are you staring at? Haven't you ever seen anyone dying before!"

"Can I give you a hand?"

"No. I can manage on my own. And no I don't want a cup of your foul Cheapsavers Gold coffee thank you."

"You're still on the decaff then?"

"Yes and what's it to you what coffee I drink? You’ll be wanting to check my underwear drawer next." She paused, her lovely cheeks colouring slightly. "On second thoughts, forget I said that."

"Drinking decaff hasn't improved your temper, I see."

"Get stuffed, Clive," she said and staggered on up the stairs, "By the way, (pant, pant) you can join me for brunch (pant, pant) if you've nothing better to do."

Had I hear correctly? My heart leapt for joy and I almost skipped down the next three flights. However, after colliding with Mrs Murphy, who unexpectedly swore at me in Yiddish, I was more careful with the last few steps.

Brunch was bliss. We shared the Sunday papers and she cooked me scrambled eggs. I accepted a cup of decaff and she sipped some awful herbal tea. She was into health foods at the time and, despite her endless chatter about fibre and her bowels, it was bliss to be sharing her company. But there was no romance. Without Cheapsavers Gold, the chemistry was gone.

Her flat was not quite so filthy as when I first visited although I winced visibly when I retrieved the milk from her fridge.

"Don't bloody sniff at my fridge like that! What are you, a plain-clothes health inspector?"

"I'll clean it for you if you like."

"No you bloody won't! You're obsessive with your damn housework! I like my fridge as it is thank you!"

It was obvious she was unhappy. After we had eaten, I asked her about her job as a textile designer.

"It sounds glamorous. I expect you must travel a lot," I said.

"Huddersfield, Rochdale, and Italy, occasionally." she answered gloomily.

"Milan?" I asked trying to add some glamour.

"No, a polyester factory in Gobbi," she sighed miserably. "It's a foul industrial town near Turin. I hate the travelling. My car is falling to bits but I can't afford to replace it. The company can barely afford to pay my wages and I end up in the most grotty hotels imaginable. Unfortunately, I'm off to Gobbi again, tomorrow. "

Nothing I could say seemed to cheer her up and she still seemed down, two hours later, when she departed for her aerobics class.

That evening I dropped in to make sure she was OK. It was a rash gesture but I bought with me an unopened jar of Cheapsavers gold as a gift. Her reaction was odd. She seemed pleased to see me and asked me in enthusiastically. When, however, I produced my present she giggled uncontrollably. I wondered if it were hysteria of some kind.

"Thank you for coming round. You have a habit of cheering me up with your weird ways," she said mysteriously.

"Shall I make you a coffee?" I asked.

She giggled again, bit her lip but nodded in approval. I found her behaviour disconcerting, but as soon as I tore open the foil and smelt the unmistakable aroma of Cheapsavers Gold, I knew things would be OK.

When I handed her the mug, she seemed to have trouble controlling herself and stuffed her fist into her mouth. Finally she sipped the coffee and smiled.

"A truly incredible cup of coffee." she said, eyes sparkling mischievously. She indicated I should sit next to her on the sofa. We talked and drank and I gradually became aware that she was leaning against me. The coffee was working its magic again. Her perfume, probably from her froggy pal JC, was quite intoxicating. She turned to speak and she was so close I felt her breath against my ear. I turned toward her and all I could see were her huge eyes.

I was totally mesmerised. Gently, her lips brush my cheek. I kissed her forehead then her lips met mine. It was a slow, gentle lingering kiss. I felt her hand grip my shoulder. I wish that kiss could have lasted forever. Unfortunately our moment of passion was rudely interrupted by an ominous bubbling and hissing sound from the kitchen.

"Damn!" she said, "My bloody curry!" and she disappeared in an instant into her steamy lair. Why the lovely Catherine should admit to the ownership of such a vile brew is a mystery to me. Made up from all her leftovers from the previous week, her curry is unspeakably foul. Far worse than anything the old crones in Macbeth could concoct.

This disastrous eruption permanently stained her kitchen tiles and part of the ceiling and put paid to any further romance that evening. Later, when I'd finished mopping up, I casually reminded her of our moment of passion.

"Oh that," she said in an off-hand manner. "I think our friendship is more important than that stuff. Who wants a 'thing' with their next door neighbour anyway?"

I said nothing but thought sadly, "Well I do Catherine, if the truth be told. I want that more than anything else in the whole wide world."