“I need to get into shape for spring,” Laverne announced, “so from now on, instead of taking elevators I’m going to try escalators.”

I bit my lip.

“You want to say something, don’t you?” she scrutinised me over her menu.

“And your recourse when there are no escalators… might that be stairwells?”

“Helipads.”

“Right then, what are we ordering?”

“Ham and eczema from the looks of it,” Laverne motioned towards a waitress scratching an itch with a Mastercard.

“Owen recommended the steak pie, so I might try that,” I remained undeterred.

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“A little red meat won’t kill me.”

“No, it’s not that,” Laverne leaned across the table, “I don’t know if I trust Owen anymore since he… you know…”

“… went on holiday and came back married?”

“If you can call some old hippie waving a bong over them on a beach in Ko Samui a wedding ceremony,” she rolled her eyes.

“Is his new wife Thai?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Laverne tutted, looking for the sommelier.

“Well, have you asked her?”

“She probably doesn’t speak English,”

“How would you know if you haven’t even asked her?”

“How could she tell me if she doesn’t?”

“What are we having for lunch?” I gave up.

“I think I’ll have the linguine in the hope that it will be brought to me by a handsome, Tuscan waiter in need of an outrageously unwarranted tip.”

“What if he doesn’t speak English?”

“Then I’ll just have to marry him,” she smirked. “Anyway, what’s new with you?”

“My crème brûlée torch is completely out of control.”

“Are you kidding me with this?”

“I wish I were. Come dessert time, it’s now every man for himself.”

“Honestly, John, you really do need to toughen up.”

“What makes you think I’m not tough?”

“Real men are killed by antlers, not kitchenware,” Laverne sniffed.

“I’m just as tough as you,” I began to feel a tad defensive.

“Prove it,” came the challenge from across the table.

“Okay… at work, I informed Zoe that if she doesn’t start contributing her share of the milk, I’ll be kicking her out of the coffee club.”

Laverne stared at me, her eyes narrowing.

“I waterboarded my godson to prepare him for Cub Scouts.”

“Andrew?” I asked, in disbelief.

“No, the little fat one who eats all the Lego,” she explained. “Andrew, I made dig a network of tunnels beneath the neighbourhood.”

“What does it take to be a godparent?”

“Godliness,” Laverne stated, matter-of-factly.

“And exactly which god-“

“-Sekhmet.”

“I don’t stand a chance against you, do I?”

“You never did, pumpkin.”