I have no qualms in "outing" the Prince of Darkness to his fellow bloodsucking creatures of the night. With a moniker like that you would expect the nocturnal one to rise from his coffin of a morning, suck on the newly-opened arteries of a young virgin (or Yard Bird, whatever comes first to hand), run his skeletal claws through his long flowing locks, throw on a cape and leave the house.
Rang him this morning to wish him good luck on a certain venture he was obliged to take part in. "Hang on a minute," he protested. "I'm in the middle of blow-drying my hair." Lummy days, that's another myth shattered.
Last night was a classic Thirsty Thursday meeting. These things seem to have taken over from Wednesday club, mainly because my fellow hacks are all now getting on in years and need more than a day to recover from Boozeday Tuesday. It turned into a good old rant fest, I seem to recall, with the odd moan from the wonderful Withers and a great deal of swearing from me brought on, in the main part, by a swiftly digested four pints of Carling.
As usual work was the main topic, at least til the chips turned up with a vast array of sauces, which immediately sent Smashy into an abrupt silence. Very nice they were too.
The Fugitive, meanwhile, continues to grow his beard with gay abandon. It was suggested we all had a beard growing competition but with him now doing a passable impression of George Michael we would be playing some futile game of catch-up.
Bad Manners, while not part of our drinking cartel last night, got herself into a fine old mess this morning. Turning up breathless, she announced: "Sorry I'm late... locked myself out of the house."
That sounds bad enough in itself, but then the truth came out. Not only was she stranded outside her house with no keys, but she was in her nightie, with no slippers, and no chance of getting back inside until a helpful neighbour came to her aid.
And why was she outside? "I went to collect the milk and the door slammed shut behind me." A likely excuse.
Last night I was in no fit state to cook so instead opted for half a packet of pork scratchings which, in my opinion, are the best on the planet. I have found them on sale in my local corner shop and I must say I am absolutely addicted to them. Don't think they are that good for me mind but, hey, you only live once.