if you make a play for the missus either above or below the table, I will probably have to kill you.’ ‘What?’ I said, suddenly taken aback. ‘Not for real obviously,’ he said, giving me a friendly nudge, ‘symbolically. In a duel. Or even in a symbolic duel, where you concede your beta-male status in a meek and self-deprecating fashion without a shot being fired.’ ‘How would I do that?’ ‘Rolling over and weeing on yourself is the most usual form, but a written note of apology and a decent bottle of Chablis will probably suffice.’
