There I am, right, in the pub with my flatmate, discussing the ills and rights of our worlds, and how we can put them to rights. While in the meantime he tells me how great my blog is – which perturbs me slightly because I don’t like my real life intruding with my blog. Prefer to keep the two quite seperate in some ways. Although if I want to do that, I shouldn’t mention my real life in this blog!

Anyway, a woman comes up to us. A woman. This doesn’t usually happen to two pissed blokes in their local at 2am on a Friday night. Nor does what happens next.

She leans over to me seductively (it’s hard not to when it’s 2am and you’re a pissed bloke), and asks me a really weird question. I can’t quite remember it, but it’s something like “Does the swan fly tonight?”. Not quite that obscure, but it feels like a moment in a espionage movie.

Of course, if I was Bond, I’d recover smoothly, say something urbane and witty and the rest of the night would have a far more interesting end.

Alas, no. I ask her to repeat herself a couple of times (my hearing having been deafened by about four pints of Caffreys) at which point she cottons on that we have no idea what she’s talking about.

We attempt to make further conversation with her and her friends later, but we just about get their names before they run off to get a taxi.

Such is life.