The office isn’t open on a Saturday, but I have my own set of keys. On the way there I popped into Wayne’s coffee shop to treat myself to a cappuccino and a slice of Battenberg cake to enjoy in the empty office. The coffee shop is called Grinders and owner Wayne was serving behind the counter as usual. He knows me well and we have a good way with each other. I pop in a couple of times every day and have been doing so for the past two years. He considers me to be his personal lawyer (I helped him with a renegotiation of his shop lease and various traffic offences) and I consider him a potential friend. (Although I don’t think I would dare announce that to him.) He is one of those gym addicts that like to show off their bulging muscles in super-tight white T-shirts. He’s about the same age as me, is well over six foot tall and sports jet-black hair in the bouffant style of Wham!-era George Michael. When he sees me, Wayne offers up a smile as wide as a hippo’s toothbrush.

‘Hello, Gary, don’t usually see you in here on a Saturday.’

‘Yeah, I was missing you so much I had to come in. It’s your muscles, Wayne, they get into your mind, draw you in.’

He flexes a bicep and gives it a puckered kiss.

‘These guns can make you want to write a love poem or sing a tribute song in the key of muscle,’ said Wayne.

‘That is exactly what they do. You are a sexy man, Wayne, sexier than a cream horn on top of a polished school bell.’

‘I know, that’s why I have three girlfriends.’

‘Have you actually met any of them?’

‘Only one.’

‘And is that one your mother?’

‘No. Your mother.’

I laugh heartily but it strikes me that the laugh was born in a sad pouch somewhere inside me. I’m not being natural. I just want him to like me. I want everyone to like me. You have to be adaptable to pull it off, though, and it’s a lot of effort. I don’t know what my end game is, but I suppose it’s better than collecting enemies.

‘Slice of Battenberg and a cappuccino to take away please, Wayne.’

Wayne fired up his machine and attended to my order.

‘Don’t you ever take a day off, Wayne?’

‘Nah, people need their coffee and I’m the man with the beans. You wouldn’t get the lifeboat people taking a day off, would you?’

‘You’re not an emergency service though,’ I countered.

‘Who says I’m not? You tell that to my regulars. I’m a frickin’ lifeline for them and, anyway, if I shut one day the punters might try another place and end up preferring it.’