Road To Nowhere

Q: What do you call a bloke with a bird of prey on one shoulder and bird of prey on another shoulder, pushing a dyson round with the lights off?

A: Hawk Kestral Man Hoovers In The Dark!

Ouch!

I had a fine night out with SJ last night.

Cocktails at Harvey Nicks, a treat for me for being clever and passing that MA thing - which goes to show how busy we've been because I graduated from that in July. One martini, one singapore sling and we were stood in St Ann Square having the 'where shall we have tea?' debate and being all giddy and indecisive.

We settled on this Italian place on Deansgate that does lots of wee dishes, bit like tapas, but Italian.

So we order our peronis and get down to business; scoffing food and recounting tales of Bad Rhona and sundry celebs and the hot goss we've picked up from our showbizz reporter chums and mee-ja mates.

To our right is a middle-aged couple. Bloke has his back to us. As we're polishing off pint number two I look up and notice the middle aged man has gone to the loo, revealing that middle-aged woman has blouse completely undone - way-way down to her navel, anyway - and certainly revealing a lot of her chest.

She seemed happy. She was smiling. Her dessert arrived. She smiled more. Who wouldn't it was chocolatey.

I whispered to SJ, 'don't look to your right now, but that woman's breasts are out'.

SJ looks immediately and confirms.

We wonder whether she knows. Whether we should tell her. Waiters and waitresses carry on as if nothing were amiss. We get distracted by garlic bread and a conversation about Judy Finnigan and her wardrobe malfunction moment. And then near-naked woman is gone. into the night, with the man in the anorak.

A mystery to ponder...