I have it here somewhere. The Thing. It might be a raffle ticket, a tiny wee screwdriver or a dog biscuit,
but I’ll know it when I see it. I’ve got the Thing somewhere. It’s maybe under this box of crap.
Last week I gave this guy a safety pin, like this one here, and the look I got off him –
‘You’re telling me that’s the Thing?’ he said – but in a year or so, a woman he has just met
will pop her skirt button before she has to go on stage to give the big speech to the commission
and he will be the very man. Hang on and let me go through these side pockets again.
Then yesterday I gave this lady a business card with a name and an address in Chester-le-Street
and trust me that’s gonna, y’know. Big time. Then there was that dog biscuit – I know, I know,
I’m stalling, actually I don’t appear to have the Thing. I’m really sorry. As you were! Sorry about that.
I really thought I had the Thing! You’ll have to just make do without the Thing. Damn that’s a shame.