Meeting the parents is always a daunting experience - whether you’re a love struck teenager, unable to talk and feeling very shy, or aged thirty four and behaving in exactly the same way.

My more mature years made the first meeting quite comfortable. It was in a family-run Italian restaurant; I sat next to Clare’s mum Maureen and for the next two hours found her company very easy. This was not how Ben Stiller had found it I recall.

Clare’s stepdad, John, was a keen cyclist and in very good shape for a man in his fifties. He told me of his trips up to Lancaster and back by bike. Being no stranger to the sweet trolley, I was well versed in more cultural forms of leisure such as the pub, the cinema, reading a good book and as one of my mates had described me, being a good “salad swerver”.

At the end of the meal, on parting, we arranged to meet up at the weekend for a walk around Entwistle Reservoir. It sounded like a fine idea. I was fine with the idea of a stroll around a lake. Clare just said it was a bit bigger than the Serpentine in Hyde Park. Speaking of which, an uncle of mine and me were once walking around the Serpentine and he recalled his courting days with my aunt. He described how they had hired a boat and after an hour my uncle asked, “Darling, would you like me to row?”

The afternoon came for the walk. Two cars arrived at the reservoir with young Freddie (a young and keen walker), Clare, Maureen and John. Walking shoes were provided for me as I had not thought to provide myself with the required footwear. I was more used to nice tarmaced paths in one of the London parks. Also Loake loafers might not fit the bill.

We set off for the walk around Entwistle. John led me ahead of the pack. Freddie was running in front of us at different times, asking questions of both of us about science and maths. He was at the age where kids ask a load of questions and expect the answer yesterday. Clare and her mum were behind telling Freddie to be careful of other walkers and I would get an encouraging smile from Clare.

Walking around the reservoir was fine. We were making good pace and had done about forty minutes worth when the terrain changed dramatically. John had taken a path to another reservoir called Wayoh.

At first, this seemed fine. Then we started a small climb.

All the while I was talking to John, trying to make a good impression and covering an impressive range of subjects; my affection for Clare, cycling, travelling from London to East Lancashire, medicine (John being a GP) and my lifelong devotion to Arsenal football club. We continued to talk and our ascent was slightly more aggressive, the paths were not really paths anymore just tracks I recognised from Last of the Mohicans.

I was beginning to get out of breath, Freddie and John were still asking me about things such as life in London, Clare and her mum had caught up to us and I looked back. Just at that moment my sight went black. I could not see a thing but I was awake. It was a little scary and all I could think of shouting was “Clare, Clare, I can’t see anything, where am I? I’m scared, give me your hand”. Clare and her mum got hold of me and I rested on the floor by almost collapsing on my back. No mean feat that, saving me from falling with all my weight. I was as graceful as a baby hippo.

As I woke, all eyes were on me, Clare, her mum, John, and a bemused Freddie, still running around after a vigorous hour’s walking and not at all tired. I felt really embarrassed. Talk about a southern softy. Like the poor patient I was I was led gently back to the car. Having worked in the NHS for over twenty years, Clare showed the unmistakable traits of a health professional, she laughed her head off.

Thankfully, her mum Maureen came to the rescue while smiling to herself berating her daughter. “Why not come to tea at our house”. I was treated to homemade chicken & prawn fried rice followed by a good pudding. I felt much better but have yet to return to the scene of my disgrace.