"I'm not really into cars"

Last night I temporarily abandoned my sensible self and went to a posh dinner dance, the first Saturday in months that I haven't stayed at home crying over the triumph-over-adversity stories on Britain's Got Talent. I drank too much wine, smoked too many cigarettes, had ridiculously huge hair and incredibly uncomfortable shoes. Bliss. The night was also a Gok Wan-esque victory for my £20 New Look dress.

I bumped into a friend I hadn't seen in ages. She was very excited when I told her I had a blog.
"That is so cutting edge! It will become famous and be featured in the Guardian and you can turn it into a book! What is it about?"
"It's about how boring my life is."
"OH."

Or how boring I thought my life was, before meeting Mr Y, who was sitting on the same table as me and the Husband. Talking to him I realised how someone who grows vegetables (me) could in fact be much more exciting than someone who can talk for half an hour about their Jaguar (Mr Y).
"But I'm not really into cars," he boomed, "I'm more into boats."
(He said this several times- I think he wanted us to ask him about his boats. We tactfully ignored him.)
"And what do you drive, young man?"
The Husband, smirking, replied, "A Ford Escort."

Am off to buy the Husband an amusingly shaped cactus to show my gratitude.