Having not dared make too much eye contact with the rest of the patrons through utter mortification, I decided it was probably best to make my excuses as soon as possible. “Well, I’ll leave you to it; I don't want to keep you from your evening. Buon appetito.”

I quickly turned to scurry off, and heard muffled voices behind me. I could hear Boleyn throwing an uncharacteristic strop and a gruff male voice spit something out sharply in response, but ultimately making grunts of defeat.

What is all that about? Ignore it and run. Stop embarrassing yourself.

“Oh, Ms. Munro!” shouted Mrs. Jones.

Arghhh! I turned my head slightly towards her call.

“Could we introduce you to the rest of the family?”

Noooo!!! I must have sinned badly in a past life. I just want to go and hide under a rock!

In a fake, cheery tone I answered. “Sure, I’d love to.”

Tink and what seemed like every Italian immigrant in Canada were all watching me with their mouths wide open.

What the f**k is going on? Is my train wreck of embarrassment really that bad? Shit, is my skirt tucked into my knickers?

Mrs. Jones (or Pamela, as she urged me to call her) came over, took my arm, and escorted me back to the table while I discreetly checked the back of my skirt, making sure I didn’t have a whopping wedgie. You’ll be pleased to learn that it was all good.

The introductions started with Boleyn’s side of the table.

I put my hand out and said to my student. “Hi, I don’t think that we’ve met? I’m Ms. Munro.”

Boleyn began laughing whole-heartedly and shook my hand right back. “Hi! I’m Boleyn,”

“Like Anne?” I teased.

“Yeah, but don’t behead me,” she joked.

“Well, only if you’re a good singer and can rock out to Adele like no-one’s business!”

Blushing, but obviously flattered, she answered, “I think I can do that.”

I winked and looked at the next person, a beautiful blonde with blue eyes who looked about my age.

“Ms. Munro, this is Samantha; she is married to my eldest son, Henry,” Pamela explained, pointing to Samantha and a casually dressed man next to her.

I nodded, smiled and shook both their hands. “Hi, nice to meet you Samantha, and you too, Henry.”

They both smiled back, reciprocating the pleasantries. Henry had longish dirty-blonde hair that ran just enough to tuck behind his ears. He looked like a surfer – a very good-looking surfer – maybe in his mid-thirties. Together they looked like Barbie and Ken, all good-looking and obviously madly in love. It was lovely to see.

“Next is Tate, a friend of the family,” continued Pamela.

Tate was very cute, with an extremely happy disposition. I liked him instantly. He had the preppy look down to a T, with a crisp white shirt, dark denim jeans and a red dickey bow tie. He had dark hair styled in a comb-over and was cute as a button. I would bet any money that he batted for Tink’s team.

“And this is?” I asked, turning to the massive bloke on the end with the beanie hat hiding most of his face. He peeked up reluctantly, and I went to introduce myself, and then stopped.

Well, shave my head and call me baldy!

“Holy shit!” I gasped and covered my hands with my mouth as if I could stuff my inappropriate cursing back in. “I’m sorry. But–”

“Yes, Ms. Munro. Please let me introduce my youngest son, Tudor,” Pamela announced, chuckling to herself.

“Hi,” he looked up briefly sporting a disgusted scowl, clearly not at all happy about my presence.

“You’re Tudor North!” I blurted out.

“Am I?” he said, patting himself and feigning shock. “Shit, that’s why I’ve been getting gawked at all night. I couldn't figure out why before you kindly reminded me of who I am. Thanks for that, you really must be a good teacher, so witty and quick!” he quipped dryly, turning up the right side of his mouth in a snotty smirk.

“Tudor!” admonished all of his family in unison.

I however, just stood there in shock. Partly because of who I had just been introduced to, but mainly because he had just been such an arse. If there’s a sure-fire way to stop the awe of meeting a celeb, it was for them to be a complete and utter twat.

Looking rather sheepish at being shouted at by his family, he held up his hands in surrender and muttered an insincere “I’m sorry,” under his breath.

That quickly snapped me out of my trance. “Apology accepted, Mr. North, and I’m happy that it was one that sounded so heartfelt and sincere,” I retorted with venom. “I admit, I was a bit wowed there for a moment. You are Tudor bloody North! I’ve never met anyone famous before, and kind of don’t want to ever again now. I heard that fame could do things to a man's ego,” I pointed right at his face. “Exhibit A. Tudor North: arrogant and rude – alert the media.” I shouted, flinging my hands in the air. I had always been one for the dramatics!

Perhaps I shouldn’t speak to him like this in front of Boleyn, you know, professionalism and all – but hey, I am bloomin’ pissed off!

“Yep, that’s me, Tudor North: arrogant as hell, rude to anyone outside of my family, and public property to the whole f**kin' world,” he remarked slyly.

This was spiralling out of control and my annoyance was at an all-time high. If we were back in Newcastle, I’d have bottled the bastard!

“Tudor! Stop it. Don’t speak to Ms. Munro like that!” cried Boleyn, getting visibly upset.