I think about mine a lot.
I'm in a small restaurant in Bury with "the girl" (wherever in the world she is - I haven't actually met her yet) and we're having dinner together. We spend an entire evening drinking good wine and gazing into each other's eyes, talking about nothing but meaning everything.
By the time I get around to looking at my watch, it's gone 2am. We're the only two customers left and the waiters - dressed in tuxedos with white aprons from the waist down - are clearing up around us. There is a candle, burned down to a nub, on the table. Crucially, the speakers have the sublime One For My Baby by Frank Sinatra tumbling effortlessly from them.
We continue to gaze at each other as the piano melts our heart strings. At the song's beautiful climax, we leave the restaurant and head to a taxi rank. We're the only 2 people who matter to each other.
When we arrive back at our beautiful house, we head for the bedroom. We undress each other, kissing and carressing every inch of the way. She lies on the black wrought iron bed (with white, Egyptian cotton sheets) with the most gorgeous 'come hither' look on her face. I sit and join her.
The kissing gently progresses to love making, something we carry on doing for the rest of the time we're awake. When we're both ready to sleep, we fall asleep in each other's arms. We both wake up a good few hours later, and again, no-one else matters in the world other than the two of us.
What a soppy bugger I am! Can you believe I'm only 23?