_. I've been sniggering about something that I know you'll find offensive, but I cannot keep it to myself. Ally has been bombarded at work about the whereabouts of the litre bottle of Martini at Friday's party. She is a very honest person and told them that she had taken the bottle home. The Martini was mine to take. I have the receipt and proof that it cost me £4. In any court of law I would be proved the legal owner. Never once did I inform the hostess that the bottle was hers. I had purchased it to consume at the party, and failing to do so I took it home with me. Naughty of me, I know, but can one be arraigned before a magistrate for having bad manners?
The real horror came when Ally had to deny any knowledge of stealing the hideous little Chinese dragon which at this moment is grimacing hideously at me from my bedside cabinet. Why on earth did I take it? Why does anybody actually steal anything? Why did footballer Bobby Moore pinch an apparently worthless bracelet in downtown Bogata at the 1970 World Cup? Such phenomenons do occur.
Obviously, the half bottle of vodka endeared me to the brightly coloured creature, and that's about all I can say on the matter.
Ally thinks I will be haunted by this dragon for ever. We've decided to call him Duncan.
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