Chaleo hosted the dinner with his wife, Daranee, then we all went off to a whiskey bar. By now, I must admit, I’d had a few too many glasses of saké, and DC was there, always a bad influence. A girl in motorcycle leathers arrived, we got talking and I rather disgraced myself by dipping pineapple chunks into the 1958 glass of Scotch I’d been given (Chaleo had asked the year of my birth and bought the bottle – God knows how much it cost) and feeding them to this girl.
