An evening at Ronnie Scott’s is an evening quite unlike any other. When you walk in, it’s dark, lit by soft red table lamps and it feels like you’ve stepped inside a hive of tipsy, romantic bees. Waiters dart around the place delivering cocktails and dinner like it’s been choreographed, cutlery clinks on plates and red wine is poured generously like laughter whilst conversation hums out from every nook and cranny. Sat at a bench table on the left hand side, alongside my Mum and Dad, I had a  ...