I waited in for the call from Richard and Judy, but my phone remained silent. Had I not done a good job yesterday? How could they embrace me to their bosoms one day and then push me away the next. I could have proferred an opinion about whatever rubbish they were talking about today. I could be getting five bottles of champagne a week if this went well. Plus I stole a banana from the fruit bowl in my dressing room yesterday to eat at my own leisure at home. If they'd have me on every day I need never buy food or drink again.
But a man can not live by bananas stolen from Richard and Judy alone, as the Bible wisely pointed out, so today I got back on with my work. Everything is ticking along quite nicely. I finished the gameshow treatment and re-wrote the pilot of the radio version of Warming Up. For the first time in a couple of years I feel I am back into the swing of things now. And I am having new ideas again, which is a relief.
It was only when my friends started coming round for my fortnightly game of low-stakes poker that I realised that the front door was still locked, which meant I hadn't stepped outside of the house all day. In fact I had been in my dressing gown until about 5pm when I had a bath. This is quite a life I have got going on here. In fact if only I could wear my dressing gown on Richard and Judy, then I would also be saving money on laundary bills, though I would have to be careful of dressing gown placement, as the belt isn't very efficient and the thing keeps falling open (though at least Judy could identify with that. Thank God that gallant gentleman John Leslie was on hand to curtail her embarrassment slightly).
To spare the blushes of my invited guests (including Grub Smith funnily enough) I put on regular clothing. One day society will accept that a man can wear a dressing gown and nothing else wherever he pleases, but for now I must bow to the laws of convention and put on normal clothes when I am in polite company. Though it might be quite a good tactic to confuse and befuddle my opponents by letting my gown fall open at crucial moments.
Grub Smith made up for his terrible defeat in the Other Boat Race by winning two of the five games we played. I won the last one, which meant I'd made a profit of five pounds. Which almost made up for the hundred pounds I'd lost on line an hour before we started, warming up for the game.
It could be worse.
I could have rat syphillis.