S: Oh, the usual. Clubbing on Friday night, picked up a couple of blokes. [Laughs ironically.] Stoned out of my brain most of Saturday, acid trip Sunday, wild orgy on Monday night. Quiet night in with my knitting on Tuesday, then picked up a football team after the match on Wednesday. Took them back to my place and showed them a few attacking formations. That sort of thing....

M: Normal sort of a week then?

S: Yeah, pretty much. How about you?

M: Well, there was this guy in the IT department the other day. Hadn't seen him before, think he must have been a temp. He was giving me the eye, kept coming up to me, asking me where things were, you know? Inventing reasons for talking to me...

S: Some things never change. Picking up the guys again...[Laugh]

M: Nothing to do with me! Can I help it if I have raw sexual magnetism? Anyway, he was really quite attractive. Bit tubby, maybe, but nice face. [Pause]

S: And?

M: Yeah, nice bod too. As I say, a bit tubby, but he had a nice bum, not too lardy, you know?

S: Yeah, yeah. You like 'em tight and firm, I know...

M: So to cut a long story short...

S: Don't you dare! I want the full goss, woman!

M: The full goss?

S: Every detail, sister. [Laughs]

M: Okay then. Settle back. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin...

S: Get on with it. I'd like to get to bed sometime this evening.

M: Wouldn't you just. And who with, may I ask?

S: Hey, this is your story, not mine.

M: [Laughs] Okay, so he came up to me for the fiftieth time, asking where the pencils were kept or something banal. It was nearly lunchtime, so I said to him 'D'you fancy a drink?' All noncholant, he said yeah, okay, and we went down to O'Driscoll's...

S: O'Driscolls?

M: New Irish bar. Peat fire in the corner and raw fish curing behind the counter, that sort of thing.

S: Bowls of mashed potato on the tables?

M: Yes, that's it. And a band of genuine leprochauns playing the music from Riverdance.

S: With some long-legged Colleens doing the dancing?

M: The usual stuff. Stiff as a board down to the knees, and then all hell breaks loose.

S: Like flapper girls on acid. Okay, I've got the picture now. Continue.

M: So we had a bottle of wine between us. Nine quid, if you please...

S: Do they have wine in Ireland?

M: 'Course they do. They're Catholics. Drink it at Mass, don't they?

S: Can't remember. So long since I was last at one.

M: Are you Catholic?

S: Only nominally.

M: Well, that's just as well. Imagine the confession you'd have to do...

S: I'd have to book myself in for a couple of days. Overnight stop...

M: Hmm, that'd be fun. You could get it on with the priest. What do they wear under their cassock?...

S: That's blasphemous, or something.

M: Not blasphemous, darling, just kinky. I've always fancied a priest. Something about the forbidden, I think.

S: Doubt they'd be interested. You're the wrong side of puberty. [Laughs]

M: Either that or not enough testicles. Guess you're right. [Laughs] Anyway, wine, nine quid a bottle. And he let me pay for it...

S: He'll have to go...

M: He's already gone, dear. No wedding bells at the end of this story.

S: Ha! We'll never get to the end of the story at this rate. [Laughs]

M: Impatient for the gory details, are we?

S: Every time.

M: So we had our wine. Bog standard stuff...

S: Well it would be bog standard in an Irish bar, wouldn't it. Peat bog standard.

M: That's probably racist.

S: I'm allowed to. I've got some Irish in me.

M: Oh yeah? He's very quiet. What's his name?

S: Michael.

M: [Croons] Hello Michael.

S: [impersonating a ventriloquist] Hello there. How are ya?

M: Sounds like a nice boy.

S: Hope not.

M: And we were chatting away. You know, this and that. Inconsequential rubbish. He talked about cricket, or rugby, or something. Either chasing a ball or hitting it. Why can't they just leave the poor balls alone?

S: Men can't ever leave their balls alone.

M: Hmm, yes, the 'fondle through the trouser pocket' routine. You've noticed that too.

S: It's impossible not to. Have you seen Jim the drummer? Looks like he's kneading a loaf of bread.

M: A baguette, presumably.

S: One of the short ones.

M: I'll take your word for that... [Laughs] Bless him.

S: I know. Thick as a plank. Totally stereotyped drummer. You couldn't create a character like him in a story. No-one would believe it. But he's so sweet.

M: Very loud though.

S: [Laughs] Yeah, I know. I think it's all that drumming. He's deaf...

M: Thick as a plank and deaf as a post. We ought to call him Jim Beam...

S: [Laughs aloud and at length. Sobbing...] Poor Jim...

M: But anyway. [Faux indignation] Back to my story...

S: Yes, sorry. Where were we?

M: O'Driscoll's.

S: God, are you still in there?

M: This story is taking a damned sight longer in the telling than it did in real life.

S: I can believe that. I know how fast you work. Five minutes from first meeting to wiping up time...

M: That's only at weekends. ANYWAY... [Pauses] somehow the conversation turned round to more interesting subjects, like sex...

S: Oh yeah, I wonder how that happened. [Mimics Margaret] 'So, big boy, what's your favourite position?'

M: Well, funny you should say that...

S: You didn't? [Laughs disbelievingly] You didn't ask him that?

M: Well, not straight away. I'd only just met him. This was near the end of the bottle. After we'd discussed exes, and teenage acne, and the difficulty men have with the concept of contraception.

S: Men have no difficulty with the concept of contraception. Contraception and menstruation: women's things...

M: [Laughs] And cleaning the toilet...

S: [Laughs] Yeah. [Mimics male voice] 'What's the point in cleaning a toilet? You're only going to piss in it and get it dirty all over again.'

M: [Laughs loudly] I wouldn't mind if they did piss in it. It's when they piss all over it...

S: Oh, don't go there... So, what was his reply?

M: Whose?

S: The guy. When you asked his favourite position?

M: Oh... he looked me in the eyes and held my gaze, and said 'Margaret, whatever my woman prefers. I just live to make women happy.'

S: [Screams] No!

M: Yeah, honest, that's what he said.

S: That's like, so yuck! So corny! What did you say?

M: Well, I wasn't going to pass this one up. 'Mark', I said; that was his name, Mark; "Mark, I'm so pleased to hear you say that. Not many men are so enlightened...

S: [Screams] Woohoohoo...

M: 'And do you know what?' I said. 'No,' he replied. 'I just love a man who likes to please a woman.' 'You do?' he said. 'U-huh.'...

S: Is this going to get gross?

M: Not for me, honey, not for me. 'Well,' I said to him, 'I could do with some pleasing right now." He went kinda pale at that...

S: Not surprised. Most men would when confronted with the Praying Margaret...

M: I went to the loos and took off my tights and panties. When...

S: [Exclaiming] You didn't!

M: Yeah, seriously. It's not that unusual. Not in my office anyway.

S: That's you who's done that, though. You're a bad influence. Teaching them lascivious ways. A bad example...

M: And they love me for it. So I stuffed the tights in my bag, but kept the panties in my hand. When I got back to the table I stretched out my hand and put them in Mark's. He looked down at them with an expression like I'd just handed him a live scorpion. Talk about terror-struck. [S. laughs throatily.] 'When we get back to my office,' I said to him, 'I want you under my desk and making sure that I am 'happy', as you so nicely put it.'

S: Never!! You'll get the sack!

M: No! I have an office of my own. When the door's shut everyone knows not to disturb me. 'Margaret's in a mood' they say, and leave me alone. I was quite safe. But he didn't know that. Poor man was petrified the whole time, waiting for someone to come through the door and find us.

S: So you did it? [incredulous laugh]

M: Too right I did, hun. And very good it was too. I made a couple of phonecalls while he was at it, too. Nothing important; I just did it to see what it felt like...

S: And what did it feel like?

M: NAUGHTY! [Laughs] Just imagine it. Talking to someone about boring work things, when there's someone under your desk licking you out. You should try it.

S: [Laughs] Might just do that. Anyway, really sorry, but I've gotta run. It's band practice tonight. I'm already late. That means I get fined. Have to buy the first three rounds at the bar.

M: Oh sweetie... Never mind, I'll sub you when I see you next. When are you playing again?

S: Next Friday. The Scar and Batter again, I'm afraid. Wanna come?

M: Yeah, sure. Guarantee you an audience of one at least.

S: Cheeky bugger. Okay, it starts at eight, come at seven, we'll be doing the sound check and stuff. You can buy the drinks and keep Jim amused. He just gets in the way otherwise.

M: Jim Beam?

M: Nope, nothing. It's my usual day off.

S: Thought it was. How do you fancy going cycling? At Rutland Water?

M: Haven't got a bike.

S: You can hire them there. Cheap.

M: God, I haven't been on a bike in twenty years.

S: You never forget. You'll pick it up in no time.

M: Jeez, what am I saying: okay, I'll do it.

S: Brilliant, come round for me at 10?

M: Okay, will do. Can't help thinking I'm going to regret this...

S: Okay, I'm off then, before you change your mind. Byeee.

[Click.]

On to next story: Simone's Diary July 11th