Low life
Eggs over easy
Jeffrey Bernard
L ast Monday I went to the Sunday Express Book of the Year Award at the Café Royal and sat at Frank Muir's table. What a charming man he is. But I couldn't help wondering, every time I looked at him, what on earth must it be like to be Geoffrey Wheatcroft's father-in-law. It makes me wonder which unlikely journal- ist will lay siege to my daughter one day. My brother, Bruce, has suggested the wine correspondent of the Cork Examiner but it doesn't really matter as long as my son-in- law-to-be does not work for the Sun.
These lunches, like the Evening Stan- dard Drama Awards one, are strange dos. You see the same faces at most of them. I think that maybe Ned Sherrin is sustained by 365 of them every year. Laurie Lee was at the Café Royal again but he sat too far away from me to keep an eye on him. Last year I sat next to him and he shovelled four lamb cutlets into his jacket pocket without even bothering to wrap them up in a napkin. I said to him, 'I didn't know you had a dog.' He said, 'I haven't. They're for me. I shall heat them up again tonight for my supper.' I should have thought that the royalties from such works as Cider With food instead of having to wash old chops covered with fluff and bits of tobacco from a jacket pocket. This year we had roast lamb served with a thick brown gravy so God alone knows the state of his pockets the next day.
The day after the Sunday Express lunch, a BBC television crew came into the Coach and Horses. Arena are making a film about that hero, Keith Waterhouse. They gave me a walk-on part and I even managed to bungle that. Keith performed the now famous egg trick from the play to perfec- tion. When it came to my turn I followed through too hard in the manner of an off drive and knocked the pint of water over although the egg remained intact. That let the side down for, as Keith said, 'You should be able to do it if you are over 50 and pissed.'
Also this week a man came in from BBC Radio 4 to interview me about my feelings about Boxing Day. I don't have any. Boxing Day is quite simply 26 December to me. He also asked me for hangover cures. I haven't had a hangover since I gave up drinking whisky some 12 years ago. I had to cast my mind back some way. The best barmen in London always included crème de menthe to settle the stomach, I know, but a simple hair of the dog will do. Hangovers are caused by an absence of alcohol.
Unlike the Arena film team who were very hospitable, this bloke didn't offer to buy me a drink in 45 minutes. Don't they teach young men anything when they join the BBC? I wonder what on earth the qualifications are to get a job at Broadcast- ing House. With arms as short as his and pockets as deep one thing is certain. He will definitely not have a hangover on Boxing Day.
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