“What’s for dinner?”

“Whatever you decide to make.”

“You’ve eaten?”

“Two hours ago.”

“You could have waited.”

“I did.”

“You ate two hours ago.”

“You’re three hours late.”

“It was an emergency.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I agreed with you.”

“Your words did, but your tone went straight through sarcastic and out the other side.”

“If you say so.”

“I do, and it was an emergency.”

“Then how about you tell me all about it while you make yourself dinner?”

“I can’t talk about my work, you know that.”

“And yet it’s fine to tell Muriel next door, and Janice in the off-licence, and Alfred at the bus stop.”

“I never…”

“Oh but you did, Muriel was on the phone to me when you bumped into her the other day, she kindly put you on speaker.”

“But…”

“And the off licence has security cameras, with sound. Janice has been sending me clips for a month.”

“And Alfred? What’s he recording me on?”

“Nothing, but his re-enactments of your conversations has had the entire residents’ coffee group in fits.”

“Well that’s charming.”

“Isn’t it. Almost as charming as telling everyone other than your chosen life partner that your ‘emergency’ is three pints minimum at whatever pub is closest to wherever you’re working that day.”