Thanks For Using Me In A Cocktail Of Nonsense

Cheers! City Wife, can be what likes, when she likes. It’s the way she rolls. But why do I always end up playing best supporting actress in her fantasies?

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MOST Friday evenings at 6.30pm I’m sipping a glass of rosé wine while slouching on the sofa chuckling to whatever hilarity Radio 4 has to offer. And the pets? Where else but snoring in front of the log burner.

But not tonight. No, this Friday I’ve splashed out on a taxi which is hurtling down the M1 en route to Highgate where City Wife, having recently diffused the passing of another decade via a Middle Age: Use It or Lose It workshop, is celebrating.

As I approach the venue, I spot her gesticulating from an upstairs balcony. What’s that, I call when she shouts down to me? Given the background hum of London traffic the only syllable I catch is school. Yeah, yeah, I respond, following the sound of popping corks.

In the private dining room dozens of people are mingling. A table overflows with presents and I help myself to champagne just as CW dashes over. Her smile is tinged with uncharacteristic concern.