I strolled into Pret a Manager at 11.30 am a couple of weeks ago. As you can imagine at that time of the morning it was very quiet. I picked up a sandwich and walked to the counter and lo and behold, there was Nigel Havers with his good lady mistress. She was buying a couple of sandwiches (I didn't
note their fillings). Annoyingly, she was counting out 2ps and 1ps from her purse and putting them on the counter. She was either mathematically challenged or plain rude. The latter I think. Anyway, as I was waiting there to be served whilst the lady mistress dug out her dole money, Havers boomed in his best thesp voice: "Where is that noise coming from?", and without invitation started walking down the stairs to the Pret kitchens. No-one goes in those kitchens. Not even cockroaches - they know it's forbidden. I watched in shock as he disappeared downstairs, and after a pause which seemed like days felt relief as he walked back up. "The music is rather loud down there, isn't it", he thesped. "And the music is loud in a different way up here too. Rather a clash of cultures, don't you think?", staring at the Pret Manager. Yes, the jungle beats downstairs were not complimenting the free-form jazz upstairs but who does he think he is? The bloody Pret MD? I had to laugh, and let out a snort. Nigel was pleased that I was impressed with him.
What Nigel did not realise was that I was laughing AT him, not WITH him. Fool. Perma-tan fool. There's no fool like a fool shorter than yourself.
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