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We've seen too many films where the stars gaze with hazed expressions, into the other's eyes. It ties in with romantic example we primly mimic, watching ourselves in a mirrored ceiling. Peels of suppressed laughter threaten to immerse me, bursting like a wet bomb in the sola plexus, checking my charade; but I'm trapped in this pretence of intense emotional rendering of love's attraction. We practise for the real thing perhaps; but it's soppy copy, making a spectacle for friends to deride - the bridal seduction as a comic strip, factually enacted - an object lesson in the art of courtship.      Without a nest from which to take the cue,      it's all so silly that we bill and coo!