One in the eye for aphrodisiacs

Every now and then I like to have a soirée with Neanderthal where we make some food and watch the first 10 minutes of a film, before we get preoccupied with each other.

My cooking isn't very imaginative or sophisticated but I recently got a book called Party by Polly Betton with cocktail and treats ideas, so I was inspired to make roasted scallops with bean blossoms and oyster martinis.

Apparently an oyster's aphrodisiac quality is down to sympathetic magic - in other words, due to the "feminine" shape of the oyster.

I'm not convinced, but if the oysters fail, the alcohol should do the trick. I shake the vermouth and vodka with ice and strain it into a well-chilled martini glass, shuck the oyster and slip it in.

My martini glass brings to mind Dita Von Teese and her signature act. A shiver of excitement runs through me at the thought.

I'm going to see Dita this week. She's in London to perform at Cointreau Privé, a pop-up speakeasy, and I'm lucky to have got myself a ticket.

I down my salty martini in one. But realising I may need another to get the full effect, I dash back into the kitchen to prepare a couple more, leaving Neanderthal in his armchair.

Contemplating the shape of the oyster again, I'm running a little plan of distraction through my head.

But as, without thinking, I rub my eye a little piece of grit gets stuck in it. I try but fail to open my eye.

Neanderthal comes up behind me. "What's the matter?" he asks, getting closer.

"My eye, I can't see," I try. But he's busy trying to console me. Soon we're back in the lounge, on the floor. But mid-flow, I peer into the mirror and see my bright-red eye streaming with tears.