To a recent dinner party, at the residence of a smart friend, the kind who lives in a multi-million pound townhouse and has a granite breakfast bar in the middle of their dug out basement kitchen. I find myself seated next to a recently engaged socialite, with a diamond the size of Gibraltar on her ring finger. Her fiancé, the son of a famous playwright, proposed to her in the south of France. “I thought I would want loads of people to be there with me when it happened,” the socialite tells me, “but in the end it was just the two of us and that was really nice.” I think of my own proposal, and how it had never occurred to me that anyone would see it other than the spider who lived...
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