The Abbot’s Quarter erupted with hilarity. We were being treated to Dennis’s life story and it was a rip-roaring romp—story after hilarious story. Alcohol got an occasional mention but only ever as a necessary ingredient of ‘a great night out’.

I’d seen this a lot—an alcoholic taking ownership of their drinking by hiding it in plain sight, with dramatic, entertaining accounts of wild sprees. It sounded as if he was admitting he had a problem, but in reality it was just one big deflection. Any shame that Dennis felt—and there was bound to be plenty—was buried beneath an almost impervious shell of distracting anecdotes.

He seemed to own half the town he hailed from—proprietor of a pub, a fish and chip shop, a taxi company and a small funeral home. The taxi company (which was just himself and his brother, Patch, sharing the one car) operated from the same premises as the funeral home, which led to some ‘hilarious’ mix-ups.

‘Jez, I’ve just thought of another one!’ Dennis abandoned his written script. ‘My Near Death Experience! Picture the scene…The afters of a funeral. Now, I’m a man who loves a funeral, there’s nothing as nice as a funeral ham sandwich…’

I could certainly visualize it: Dennis pressing the flesh amongst the mourners while mentally totting up how much was being spent at the open bar in his pub. Like Chalkie, Dennis was burdened with great likeability. It meant that people enabled his drinking, made excuses for him, covered up his gaffes and couldn’t bear to confront him.

Dennis was actually on his feet now, acting out various people from his anecdote. I’d let him finish this one and then he wasn’t getting any more airtime until his brother Patch came in on Wednesday morning and blew the lid off things.

‘…I was clinically dead! For four minutes, can you credit it? I knew I was on the hospital table but I saw the corridor of white light. So I sez, “Have ye an open bar in heaven?” ’

Ella snorted with laughter.

‘I was deadly in earnest.’ Dennis’s curls bobbed. ‘If there was an open bar, I’d keep going towards the light. But a voice sez, “No bar. Heaven is dry.” So I sez, “Good luck! I’ll see ye again. And back I came!” ’

When the laughing quietened, Ella declared, ‘You could get a job as a stand-up!’

‘If he doesn’t die from alcoholism first,’ Giles said quietly.

A blanket of silence dropped on the room and six heads whipped around to stare at Giles. In fairness, I was surprised myself. But Roxy was leaving in three days and, clearly, Giles had begun his transition to the Elder Statesman of the group. The poacher had become a junior gamekeeper.