Monday

I’m a member of the Presidents Club. Which isn’t anything to do with the actual president. Although I’m glad it’s not Hillary Clinton. But I did like her husband.

Anyway, last week we had our big annual bash. Bloody good night. Only now my wife keeps asking about it.

“Yes, but what did you actually do?” she says.

“Oh you know,” I say, airily. “Just chap stuff.”

“And there really weren’t any women?” she says.

“Good lord, no,” I say. “I mean, except for the staff.”

My wife says it all sounds terribly odd. Particularly as Toby left that message on our answerphone afterwards, about holding hands and grabbing bottoms.

“Banter,” I say.

“It’s just a wife can’t help but wonder,” she says.

“What?”