What really happened to Cherry B.

Good evening, Gentlemen. It's charming of you to invite me to join you in this pipe-fumed Snug. I only stumbled into The Shilling and Ha'pence hoping to use the powdering facilities. I was on my way to a Tufty Club Reunion. I must confess, since Willy the Weasel's demise, it's never had the same draw.

Now I find myself amongst such a select gathering, I rather think I might stay and warm my soul for a while. I've been listening to your conversation whilst waiting for the barman to blow the dust off a Babysham. I asked for Cherry B initally. Apparently my mother drank the reserves dry during the Great 1980 Divorce Disaster.

I do wonder if I should be sitting outside in the carpark eating crisps, drinking Coca Cola through a straw from a waisted bottle, the little blue packet of salt torn in two beside me on the sticky plastic seats of the orange Opel Manta.

I must confess that I have no concept of the subjects of which you speak. This is because all of them, with the exception of the wondrousful Withnail, preceded my actual conception.

My life references commence with Twinkle, the Bay City Rollers, Pinky & Perky, Anglo Bubblies ( which I was never allowed to have - so I stole one, leading to a harrowing half hour - there are scars still visible to this day of which I may speak later).

I am a fully-paid up member of The Famous Five, identifying strongly with George at an early age although in later years I feel much more akin to Anne and have had to take out a restraining order on Julian. Timmy, the Dog growls whenever he approaches. I never quite got along with The Secret Seven, too many Chiefs. I'm amongst the Mallory Towers alumni and intend to find out exactly what lacrosse is all about just as soon as I'm hard enough.

Would it be permissible to meet with you on a regular basis?