My wardrobe is crammed full of clothes. I can barely shut the doors. I'm not one of those women who complains that she never has anything to wear despite this. On the very rare occasion that I actually go somewhere other than work or rugby, I always pull out the same thing - a pair of faded linen trousers and a breast cancer T-shirt festooned with a fuschia pink sequinned Union Jack. It's comfy, glitzy and fits me. My social activities are so sparse, and my circle of friends so vast, that I figure it'll be years before anyone notices that I never wear anything else.

So there's no prizes for guessing what I was wearing at the opening of a new comedy club in town the other night. I was really looking forward to listening to the acts, picking up some tips ready for our own Comedy Night next month ( it's a sell out, I'm so excited), and catching up with some old friends who I haven't seen much of since I started working over the river nearly 10 years ago.

I was a little surprised to see Anton staring so intently at my chest, making no effort to disguise it. I began to wonder if I'd spilled risotto all down my front without realising.

" So you've joined that new club across the road then. I wouldn't have had you down as a member but thinking about it, it is a long time since you had a boyfriend". I was about to ask him what he meant when the lights dimmed and the first act came on, after which I forgot all about it.

It was only later as I was walking back to my car, past the recently re-opened Baths Hall, an entertainment venue and scene of many a misspent night in my younger days that I noticed the large ad banner wrapped across the front of the building. Tickled Pink. Dulltown's first official gay & lesbian night.

Now I really don't have anything to wear if I have any hope of ever getting a boyfriend!