I went for dinner with a friend recently.

The meal was pleasant enough, we were chatting away and I was being my normal hugely entertaining self. The evening was much like any other, but then, only was as we began our main course, I first noticed her.

There was lady at the next table dining alone, and she kept looking at me. This is not unusual. It is a cross that I have learned to bear with little complaint. If looking at me helps women get through the day, then so be it. It is nice to know I can do my bit for the happiness of the world just by looking pretty.

After a few minutes it became clear that she was looking about a foot above my head. At first I blamed it on poor quality NHS glasses, and felt sorry that she could not freely gaze upon me whilst dining. Then she tutted and looked away.

Now, nobody tuts at me. Ever.

I looked over my shoulder, and there in the window, looking directly in at the diners, was a somewhat inebriated tramp. He was just leaning on the window looking in. It was almost enough to put me off my deliciously filling meal that I was struggling to finish.  He did not even bother doing any of that entertaining tramp routine stuff that most of them do. There was no dancing, swearing, or flashing of genitalia. It was a pretty poor effort all round on his part.

As the restaurant manager finally saw him away, I realised that I would make an excellent tramp. I know lots of exotic swear words, I am happy to berate the public for little or no reason, and I used to do a spot of break dancing in my youth, so I would be nothing if not entertaining. I am also not averse to public displays of nudity, especially when drunk.

In fact, if I think about it, I am just a few missed mortgage payments away from making this dream a stunning reality.

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