I do the screening, he thinks I overdo it, and I have a story

My husband would meet somebody on a Friday off the back of three good messages. I would not, and because I am the one going out, my method wins, and he has stopped arguing about it in a way that is only slightly grudging.

Thirty four, Salford, four years in this. The story that settles it, for me: two years ago a man was excellent for five weeks and then, on a call, mentioned in passing that he had told a friend about us. Nothing malicious in it. He simply did not think of it as information belonging to anybody else. I asked which friend, he named somebody who lives four streets from my mother, and I ended it that afternoon, politely, without explaining very much.

That is the whole reason for the questions. It is never about whether somebody is dangerous. It is about whether he understands that a piece of information about me is mine.

So expect a call before we meet, a conversation about who in your life knows what, and a first meeting in the middle of a weekday somewhere neither of us has any connection to. None of it is a test with a right answer and I am not building a file on anybody.

My husband will be at that first meeting, briefly, because he likes to be, and then not again. He is a friendly man and he will talk to you about your car.