One day, perhaps in the year 2070, I'll be sitting by the virtual fireplace, in the company of my (probably adopted) grand-daughter; she'll ask me about my life and smile an indulgent smile about how quaint all of this was - the way I do when I see my own real life grandma, except that I won't be so deaf.

Of course, by then relationships between the sexes will be infinitely simpler.

Won't they?

Anyhow, it might go a little like this:

- So, gran, what happened with mandatejohn?
- Ah, to this day it remains a mystery, my dear.
- You did shag him, didn't you ? (the young of the year 2070 will have no qualms about asking their grandparents about such things. I would get a slap, of course.)
- Not really, dear, we gradually seemed to lose our clothes and just rolled around a lot.
- How much is a lot?
- I don't know, half the night?
- But no shagging? And then he just faded away, didn't call, and you didn't, I don't know, set fire to his front door as a revenge, put slugs into his letterbox, do voodoo on his ass, something?
- I couldn't find any slugs, and I was too nice for any voodoo.
- So... what did you do? She'll ask, shaking her head disapprovingly at my niceness.
- I tried to distract myself by going out on more dates with more strangers. Obviously. And kept checking my email.
- And?
- Well, tomorrow, I'll tell you about mandatepeter.