On Monday night, against my better judgement, I found myself in Bennet's Bar with old sea salt Tommy Hamilton, back on dry land.
He told me exciting tales of his exotic journeys patrolling the Thames Estuary on his boat. Tales of far off lands, dusky mysterious women and buried treasure were sadly not in evidence.
He is also renowned as a "Grand Prix" enthusiast. (to the uninitiated, that's Formula 1 car racing, rather than a risque male nightclub act).
Being something of a chain smoker, Tommy presented my non-smoking regime with a stern examination of my willpower, which I'm happy to divulge that I passed.
My brother Gavin was also in attendance, and miraculously I was occasionally able to get a word in edgeways. (ooohh hark at her!)
Gavin has the slightly irritating habit of interrupting my amusing anecdotes half-way through and carrying on with them himself, leaving me silently fuming with a world weary expression on my face.
One of the benefits of doing stand-up, is that I get to finish the stories myself, because I've GOT THE MICROPHONE, OK???
I shudder to think what it would be like if Gavin ever developed the technology to have his own permanent built-in microphone.
Nobody would ever be able to finish a sentence within a 2 mile radius of him.
It would be a recipe for disaster and civil unrest.
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