Nick sucked his teeth. “You’re hopeless. ‘Belinda Carter (24), a secretary from Bromley, Kent, gave everyone a thrill in Leicester Square on Friday night. Returning from a Cartoon Character party, held in the Planet Hollywood restaurant, she divested herself of every last stitch of her Minnie Mouse outfit and danced naked on a bench in the square. The crowd that gathered around to watch were not only captivated by her dance routine, but also by the enormity of her breasts. “I’m very proud of them,” she told the policeman who had covered her indiscretions with his jacket before leading her away. “It cost me six months’ wages to get these silicon implants and I like to display them.” ’ How about that, then?”

“Thank you, Nick. I am enlightened. Now, do you think that you could put that paper down so that we could have a normal conversation?”

“One more.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes.”

“Just a quick one.” He turned the page. “Right, you should get this one.” He quickly read through the story. “And you’ll be pleased to hear that it’s not even smutty. Are you ready?”

Dan didn’t even bother to reply. He just nodded his head.

“ ‘Prawn to Stay Alive.’ ”

“No idea.”

“Not even going to hazard a guess?”

“No.”

Nick looked disappointed. “All right then. ‘When a rescue team reached the wreckage of a light aircraft that had crashed into a fog-bound hillside in remote Wester Ross, they were amazed to find that its cargo of prawns were still alive and crawling around on the ground. “It was amazing that anything survived that kind of an impact,” said Hughie McLeish of the Lochaber Mountain Rescue Team. “They must be tough little creatures.” The pilot of the plane, Dick Freeman (52) of Inverness, was killed outright along with his passenger, Patrick Trenchard (45) of Fort Will—’ ”

“Oh for God’s sake!” exclaimed Dan, grabbing the paper from Nick.

“What’s the matter? What are you objecting to now?”

Dan held up a hand as he continued to read the article.

Patrick Trenchard of Fort William. The plane, a Piper Aztec, had been chartered by Mr. Trenchard, who owns Seascape, the Fort William–based prawn factory, to fly a shipment of prawns from the Outer Hebrides back to the mainland. “I stuck a load of the prawns in a plastic bag and put them in my haversack,” continued Hughie. “The wife and I had them for our tea and they were delicious!”

Dan tossed the paper back onto the table. “I have to go, Nick.”

“Why?”

Dan got up and flipped his jacket off the back of the chair. “I’ll tell you later.” He hurried off towards the door of the pub, and then stopped and went back to the table. “Listen, Nick, I might not be at work tomorrow. I don’t know yet, but just be prepared if I don’t show up.”