Don’t You Forget About Me(38)

‘Why would you do that?’ Clem says. ‘Why not pick an achievable goal?’

‘I believe he truly wants to change,’ I say. I am enjoying the gag, though I didn’t think I could convince them I’d be that stupid. Victory: pyrrhic.

‘Yeah well. R Kelly believed he could fly.’

There’s a pause, while they all eye me uneasily.

‘Nice try, George,’ Rav says. ‘But you love curry way too much to risk ruining appetites in this way at the start of the meal.’

‘Balls, you got me.’

I start gurgling with laughter and everyone tuts and scolds.

We’re at Rajput in Crookes, which along with the Lescar, is undoubtedly a soother to my soul.

‘Are we having poppadoms?’ Rav asks and I say, ‘YES definitely it’s essential, I want all the bits,’ and Clem pouts and says, ‘They make you too full,’ and we say, ‘Er don’t eat them then?’ and she says, ‘Well I’m going to have to if they’re there, aren’t I?’

Clem, tonight in white go-go boots and a minuscule pinafore dress from her boutique, is rigidly controlling of what she eats, to maintain rationing era measurements. To the point where she saw an advert about the signs of cancer that said ‘Unexplained Weight Loss’ and she said Ooh I’d love me some of that and we shouted at her.

Whenever anyone says to her: But you don’t need to be on a diet, she replies, with the steely fanaticism of the truly devout, ‘I don’t need to be on a diet because I diet.’

I only wish Clem’s neuroses weren’t played out in front of Jo, who is a buxom 14–16, and loathes her figure. She wages war on her metabolism with awful dieters’ dinners that look like something from Woman’s Own in the Seventies – tinned beetroot with blobs of cottage cheese and pepper matchsticks. She has a body blueprint that will never be redrawn by cottage cheese, and the futile self-torture makes me sad. Needless to say, we all suspect her on-off obsession, Shagger Phil, has contributed to a sense of Not Being Enough. Or, being too much.

During our starters, Rav entertains us all with his latest tales of harrowing online dates.

‘She said her tarot reader had told her a dark, stormy spirit would come into her life, then disappear, but soon return.’

‘Her tarot reader?’ I ask.

‘Yeah she was a real “Luna Lovegood” type. I said I thought it sounded a lot more like she was going to vomit spiced rum, and made my excuses.’

As the mains arrive, Rav and I update Clem and Jo on That’s Amore! and I read Greg Withers’ comment in full.

‘You’re so good at things like this,’ Jo says, as the laughter subsides.

I turn my phone off again and throw it into my bag. ‘Thanks. Sadly you can’t spend “thank you” clicks on TripAdvisor reviews. Greg’s scored quite a few.’

‘You say that,’ Rav says, dipping a piece of roti in his dahl, ‘but you’re a funny writer, you’ve got a way with words, you’re good at telling stories. And you’ve got lots of experience in the service industry. Maybe you could put the two together somehow.’

Wait … sharing shame?

‘I suppose I’m quite good at telling other people’s stories,’ I rattle on, but my mind is whirring. ‘Robin once said I had “comic impulses but lacked the discipline”.’

‘You see, what the hell does that mean?’ Clem says, hoovering her lamb pasanda with impressive efficiency. She will carbon offset it tomorrow by living off Heinz cream of tomato, Diet Coke and menthol cigarettes. ‘What discipline does he show?’

‘He said I said I wanted to write, and talked like a writer, but never wrote. He had a point,’ I said.

Nearby, a young couple beckon the waiter over. I sense the man, who can’t be more than twenty-five, is trying to impress the date he’s with, who has a huge mane of backcombed hair and a very tiny Lycra dress.

‘We didn’t ask for this? … Why bring it then? Make sure it’s not on the bill, please.’

The waiter is being apologetic while the lad bristles with righteous indignation. Ugh. I know the sort. Talking to you like a sultan with a serf.

‘He’s failing the Waiter Rule,’ I say, under my breath.

‘What’s that?’ says Jo.

‘It’s the theory that you should never trust anyone who’s rude to the waiter,’ I say. ‘Or waitress.’

‘The Waiter Rule,’ Rav says. ‘That’s sound. I could’ve saved time using that test.’

‘Had you not heard of it?’ Three shaking heads.

‘It’s one of the great fundamental underpinning truths of life. It’s like never dating anyone who’s mean with money and dodges the tip or pulls the “oh no I’ve forgotten my wallet!” move. It’s scientifically impossible for them to be a good person. You know all you need to know.’

‘They could have forgotten their wallet?’ says Jo, who is fair of mind and kind of heart. ‘It happens sometimes.’

‘They could. And if you’d forgotten your wallet, you’d make sure you paid the person back once you’d found it again, wouldn’t you?’ I say.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Wallet forgetters, funnily enough, never, ever, do this.’