Tom, a fruity spring in his step, presented our steak and chips in the manner of an old-fashioned waiter in a Michelin Star restaurant. The meal was worth the wait, as was the company. Tom’s delivery may have seemed ostentatious, but due his perfectly cooked meat, I thought him justified in the performance. Not one to be left on the fence, Luke had also provided a genuinely glorious peppercorn sauce.

After dinner, our chat turned to faith and the nature of the self. Thank goodness that we soon managed to turn back to talk of bums and farts. That’s propper men talk, that.

Later we played Shit Head, but Tom and Luke called it something weird and played strange rules.

Thanks for the fun evening, chaps; I needed that.