From Volume VI "The Unfinished Memoir" by Sir Gerald Benson

"Good morning dear" I said when she appeared noisily in the dining room.

"Gerald" she replied. I slid the letter into the newspaper and made idle chit chat.

"They say it's going to be a nice day today."

"Who do ?"

"People who know about these things."

"Really ?"

"Yes."

"Experts always think they are right you know."

"True - it goes with being called an expert I suppose."

"Why aren't you an expert Gerald ?"

"I am dearest heart - you wont find anyone in the home counties with a grater knowledge of stationary requisition procedures than me."

"Who devised these procedures ?"

"Well... I did."

"You can't be an expert in something you invented yourself. Otherwise I could call myself a Mrs Benson expert."

"Technically you didn't invent yourself - your parents invented you."

"I will not have smut at the dining table" she thundered. I stroked the letter, daring for a moment to believe that it was true.

* * * * *

Crispin was depressed when I got in. He looked over his shoulder, saw it was me and sighed. I tried to convince myself that it was a sigh of admiration and respect but it wouldn't wash.

"A word in my office" I said a moment later.

"Sir" he drawled.

"Don't think me talking out of turn Crispin but you seem a little down today."

"Yes sir" he replied in a monotone.

"It isn't a pregnancy is it ?" I asked with a hint of disgust - as if holding the words at arms length.

"No sir."

"Is it anything female ?"

"No sir."

"Is it anything... male ?" More arms length speaking. I'm no bigot but there are certain things that shouldn't be discussed before the watershed.

"No sir" he droned.

"Is it the delay in announcing the new procedure for authorising newspaper deliveries ?"

"No sir."

"Is it the central heating rationing scheme whereby members of staff are only allowed a fixed period of time sat near a radiator ?"

"no sir."

"Possibly your depressed about our latest temporary member of staff being a troglodyte."

"That is quite annoying sir but it isn't the reason."

"Maybe it's the prospect of Sir Davenport's birthday party this evening ?"

Silence.

"May I take it that your silence indicates agreement ?" I asked.

"Yes and no."

"A balanced answer but an unhelpful one" I told him.

"I'm going to be thirty soon."

"Thirty soon ?" I queried, believing for all the world that they'd invented a new number and not bothered to tell me. "Oh" I said with understanding, "soon you will be thirty."

"Yes sir."

"And this is causing you disapprobation ?"

"And vexing."

"I remember my thirtieth birthday."

"Wow" he said with surprise. I assumed he was joking and pleased myself by inspiring levity.

"'Bender' Lupid, 'Fudger' Dagenham, 'Cocky' Spencer and I went for a night on the town. I saw things that night that would make a grown man cry. It was only when they paid for me to get a private striptease from a man dressed as a sailor that I realised something was amiss."

"What did you do ?"

"Well, it would have been rude to send him away clothed so I let him do his thing. For a chap brought up in the public schools of England, no amount of male nudity can shock one. Not even that occasion when I showered with the Prime Minister."

"You're straying sir."

"I am not - one male lap dance doesn't make me a hom..."

"I meant from the story."

"The story was unimportant - not to my life not to yours. The point was that one's thirtieth birthday is nothing to be alarmed about. It is just nature's way of reminding you to get a pension.

"It's still awfully old" he said glumly.

"Crispin - I am in my early forties..." He snorted. I gave him a fierce look and he swallowed his guffaws. "I am in my early forties and I can assure you that reaching thirty is utterly insignificant."

"That's what I'm worried about" he said.

"Sorry ?"

"I am going to be thirty and I'm utterly insignificant. Even you've lived a richer life than me - damn it, I want a naked man to dance for me."

Toby looked shocked. The office had evidently been built on the site of an old sit com burial ground as staff members' timing was pure Terry Scott.

"Am I in the way ?" he asked.

"Crispin is having birthday issues" I explained.

"If he's forgotten the date he should ask his mother."

"I'm going to be thirty" he sighed. My good work had gone to waste.

"My brother was thirty last year" said Toby, "all his hair fell out over night and he has to walk with a stick. Small children keep trying to help him across the road."

"Toby" I said harshly but fairly. "This is not the place for levity. This office is for serious matters only. Why are you here anyway ?"

"Mr Wrench says there's a pelican on the roof and it's giving Mr Morris a lot of funny looks. If you hurry, we might make it downstairs in time to see it attack."

"What is Mr Morris doing outside ?"

"Flexing."

"Flexing ?"

"He's showing off his new muscles."

"Where did Mr Morris get muscles from ?"

"He's been pumping iron."

"Don't be colloquial Toby."

"Sorry sir."