Perch

When Vic came home on Friday evening she reprimanded me for being horrible to Julian. She had read this blog and the black tie wind-up was, in her words, "nasty".

Ironically, when we arrived at the dinner on Saturday night, there were a number of gentlemen in black tie present. And they weren't waiters. The majority of chaps were in lounge suits. Only a handful - including myself - were in "smart casual" attire. Despite my trendy new designer shirt and pants, I felt a little under-dressed. The huge collars on the shirt made me look like the mutant hybrid love child of Harry Hill and Graham Norton.

I should have taken my own advice.

After being sat at the dinner table for two minutes though, Vicster seemed to change her mind about my bullying of Julian: He managed to stick his elbow in her face when pouring the wine, bore her to tears about the state of parking at B&Q Aylesbury, and sit with his legs so open that he almost knocked her off her chair. All in two minutes.

No punches were thrown. No demons exorcised. Everyone was well behaved. Grinned and bore it.

Lisa even managed to say more than two words to me as well.

She managed five:

"Hello, this is Simon."
"Bye!"

On the way home Vic kept telling me that, for my own sanity, I have to get a new job.

Or a snipers rifle.

There is a tall chimney stack that overlooks the car park.