“The next morning, I call my girlfriend and tell her I have met the man. The man. By lunchtime, I have matched my first name with his – Kri...Chef...Ski. By evening, we are married with two kids. I wait for his call. He never calls. I call my friend, the sister of my friend, fake a story that I need Shakespearen beard’s email address. Email is just coming in, sent and received on the bright blue blocky Apple laptop, more Fisher Price than iMac, that sits in a corner, on my desk. He has asked if he can read one of my scripts, and I am keen to help a young out of work actor with aspirations to write of his own. I can sense her smiling on the other end of the line, knowing this is a lie. “No, I don’t want his number.” I reply. I need to write. I am better with words than in person, used to hide my shattering lack of confidence. I get it. I email him. Nothing. A silence that is a deafening. I am heartbroken. I am ancient. I am over the hill. A few days later, I am working on my laptop at my desk and then suddenly from my inbox- ...Ping! “. Happy Anniversary, Mr K!