Do you need me to spell that? G. A. Y.

My boss is due to arrive at lunchtime. We have a meeting with our French accountants in their swish offices at the back of the Champs Elysées - I've even put on a suit for the occasion (navy blue, for those of you interested, Calvin Klein shirt, no tie).

Anyway, me and my boss go back years. She's been my boss for, like, ever and we know each other very well. We've travelled all over together and seen each other at our respective bests and worsts.

Goodness only knows, then, why she still insists on telling me how pretty/intelligent/charming the latest female addition to the staff is. She's desperate for me to get married, despite the obvious barrier.

One of my earliest memories of Boss Lady sees us at the Dorchester in London, chatting to Sir Bernard Ingham - former press secretary to Margaret Thatcher, who now fills his time with after dinner speaking, spouting views on immigrants and 'the poor' and generally making a nuisance of himself.

"Hello Sir Bernard", said BL, swooning. "I'm from Yorkshire too, you know!"

"Hello dear, lovely to meet a Yorkshire lass". Both Sir Bernard and BL have accents that could cut glass, such is their poshness. Both are typical conservative, boarding school, old money sorts. Neither has been to Yorkshire for decades, yet to hear them talk it was like they were regulars on the set of Emmerdale.

"This is TBNIL," said BL, introducing me. "We're lucky to have him with us today - he's usually jetting off somewhere, flying the company flag overseas".

"Oh really," said Sir Bernard. "And how does the missus feel about this?"

I tried to answer but BL got in there first.

"Oh he's not married you know - girl in every port this one, ha ha"

"Yeah," said I. "Something like that".

So the function continued and I find myself alone with BL. I ask her why she said that I have a "girl in every port".

"Well, you know dear - I don't want him to think that you're a queer!" she said.

"But I am," said I. "I am a queer. I'm a homo, a fag, a gay, a big old pufftah - as well you know!".

"Now really," she said. "There's no need to be coarse".

And that was the end of that conversation. Ever since, she keeps telling me about the new girls in the office, inviting me to dinner with her and a single friend, asking me if I've found a nice French girl yet. Every time she gets the same answer.

"I'm gay. You know I'm gay. Stop doing this."

I think she just does it to wind me up now. Surely no-one can be that stupid?

Anyway, I'm taking her to dinner in Paris tonight and my Lovely Paris Friend (now living in the South) is coming along. After a couple of hours with both of us, she'll soon realise that I dance at the other end of the ballroom.

Well, let's hope, anyway. I'm kind of bored of being an elgibile bachelor.