The man is avoiding my eye as he talks, waving his hands around, generously forgoing any need to talk about the dark events that have occurred here today. But now, inexplicably, I really want to talk about it. I want to grab his cheeks, and look deep into his eyes, and say, 'I do apologise for spitting on your head,' but I remain silent and secretly try to see whether anyone else has witnessed this horror. The women we are with are all smiling and listening to the man, rapt. Maybe they didn't see. Or maybe they saw and are trying not to look at me in case I start talking and spitting on them as well. I shake my head slightly. I am a spitter. These women think I am a spitter.

But then I wonder ... is this really so bad? After all, did not Jesus spit upon the blind man to heal his eyes? But this man is wearing glasses. Jesus would have purposely avoided spitting on him. And also, I am not Jesus.

Maybe I should come clean. Say I'm so sorry, highlight the fact, tell him about the tricky sentence, let him know I've made his forehead twinkle. But I can't. I would only embarrass him. And also, there are too many 'S' sounds in saying you're so sorry. I decide it would be best if I simply followed the crowd and pretended the whole thing never happened. After all, we all do it. We have all, at one time or another, inadvertently spat on someone's arm, or face, or on their food. It is a human failing. One we must conquer. And after all, have I not already proved myself a worthy companion with that excellent joke from earlier?

'How about you, Danny?' says the man. 'Have you ever been there?'

'Sorry,' I say, briefly and casually covering my mouth, just in case. 'Been where?'

'Cirencester?'

Cirencester. I have the perfect joke about Cirencester.

I shake my head.

'No,' I say.

COMEDY

I am waiting for Colin to finish work so we can grab a bite to eat in our local.

When he arrives, he is excited.

'There's comedy on tonight,' he says, pointing at a sign. 'I've always wanted to have a go at that!'

This is strange. Colin has literally never once mentioned he's always wanted to have a go at that.

'Why don't you ask them?' I reply, jokingly. 'Maybe they'll let you do five minutes.'

'I will, sir!' he says, and a moment later he's out of his chair.

He sits back down sixty seconds later and I prepare to commiserate.

'They say that's fine,' he says.

'What? What do you mean they say that's fine?'

'They say I can do a quick set between the bigger acts.'