My flatmate Jamie is a total bastard. He came home from work the other night and asked me how my day at work had been. I grunted in a vaguely French accent and asked him how his was.
"Shit - but also brilliant," he said.
"Well, I went through the usual crap; but just before I left, a few of us got invited for a booze-up and posh meal, all paid for by the company. Guess where."
"The Ivy." Celeb dining haven. That would be pretty cool.
"Fifteen." Jamie Oliver's place, run by homeless kids come good.
"Er, Gordon Ramsey's restaurant?" Couldn't remember what it's called.
"Tell me. Where?"
He wasn't talking some shitty eaterie in Stockwell called Paris. He meant Paris. As I said, total bastard.