The old Derrig charm at work You probably don't know what it's like, but I am recognised everywhere, especially by the laydeez. Of course, I cut a fine figure as I sail majestically along like a three-masted barque, so I should not be surprised when I get come upon by a fine filly. Then it's time to switch on the famed old Derrig charm and Wildean wit.
She: Excuse me.
Me: What do you want?
She: Aren't you Sir Colin Derrig of the Derrigs?
Me: What is it to you?
She: I saw you at that Smiths gig.
Me: Highly unlikely, Madam. Morris Smith and The Smiths split up in 1987. The last time I was at a gig of theirs was in 1986. You seem too much of a slip of a thing to be quite that mature, you flibberti-gibbet.
She: No. The Smythes gig at Camden Lock earlier this year. You were part of the stage invasion. You were up there giving the singer a lick upside his head.
Me: Madam I have never struck another man! It is not in the Derrig blood.
She: No, not like that. Actually licking the side of his face.
Me: I believe you must have been very drunk, Madam. It is not the sort of behaviour I, Derrig, indulge upon. Now, be about your business, I have pressing matters to attend to in yonder pub.
She: But I wanted to say how much I admired you!
Me: Well, quickly then. Speak your piece.
She: Your hair. Your handsomely stout figure. Your haughty manner. You're on my foot.
Me: Be off with you at once.
She: But Sir Derrig, my name is Jess. Please do me the honour of remembering it.
Me: You may hand your business card to my lacky Mr. Ben T"ho"mas. Yes the swarthy looking creature trailing in my wake. Yes, quite like a monkey. That's him. Thomas! Take this girl's card and put it with the others.
She: Thank you, Sir Colin. I am honoured.
Me: Indeed you are. Now, out of my way.
At which point I proceeded under the impetus of a fair wind from this unwelcome intrusion into my meanderings and made straightway to the Marquis for a reviving Fruli and to regain my composure.
My life is an absolute trial and no mistake.
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