There is a knock at the door!!!
Even with my tooth abscess and associated medication I am determined to lead as normal a life as possible, so I hurry downstairs to investigate.
It is Short Tony!!!
“Hello!” he says.
“Hullo,” I say.
The Chipper Barman pokes his head out from around the corner. “Hello!” he says.
“Hullo,” I say.
With all my strong antibiotic treatments it is an effort to hold down a complex conversation like this, but I persevere.
“We’ve been to the pub,” offers Short Tony. His eyes are so glazed that I half expect Ted Moult to turn up with his feather.
The Chipper Barman ducks behind Short Tony, then pokes his head out again. “Hello!” he says.
“And we were just headed next door to play darts.”
I am a bit cross at this tactlessness in the face of my brave struggle. “I…” I begin.
“And wondered if you fancied a game?”
“It would be nice, but because I am on these STRONG ANTIBIOTICS I am not allowed to DRINK ANYTHING,” I explain, as if to a small child but without the hitting.
The Chipper Barman grins wildly at me. “Can I use your toilet?” he suddenly begs.
I am a bit nonplussed that in a journey from the Village Pub (distance from my house: 500 yards) to Short Tony’s house (distance from my house: 10 yards) it should be necessary to divert to mine for a toilet break. But it seems simpler to agree. Short Tony stands awkwardly in my kitchen whilst the Chipper Barman performs a noisy toilet.
“Now shoo,” I tell them, when he has re-emerged.
They leave without fuss. I lock the front door and disappear upstairs to resume my suffering.