I tucked into my feast with all the relish of a man who hasn’t eaten since a bowl of Bran Flecks almost seventy-two hours earlier. Francois Devine was visibly stunned when I matched him round-of-toast for round-of-toast. He had obviously never dined with a starving person before.

“Actually that is not true as I once visited Africa as part of a charitable venture” he explained. “I found it an extremely heart-warming experience even if the end result of my trip was an event I believe they called ‘Live Aid’.”

I started on yet another of my army of toast when I became aware of some people standing beside me. I braced myself for an attack of some kind and cunningly chewed my toast into an improvised stake (just in case).

“We think it’s marvellous” said the male half of the couple.

“Yes – marvellous” agreed his female associate.

“We’re ever so looking forward to it” added the male.

“Yes – ever so looking forward to it” agreed his female.

“It’s going to be ever so much fun.”

“Yes – ever so much fun.”

“I’ve heard you’re the best in the country by a long way.”

“Yes – best in the country by ever such a long way.”

“Thank you” I said quickly in an effort to stave off yet more prattle. “To what are you referring?”

“Did you hear that? He’s ever so good isn’t he?

“Yes – ever so good isn’t he?”

“Of course I’m good – I’m extremely good. Morally speaking I am close to perfection and I don’t think I’m overstepping the boundaries of language when I say that a belief one is perfect is incompatible with a concept of pure morality and therefore my closeness to perfection is in itself a form of ultimate perfection because it has the inbuilt caveat that true perfection is impossible. If there were more people like me in the world, there would be more people to protect me from the dregs, the scum, the worthless, the idle, the cretinous, the ignorant, the rude, the obnoxious, the violent and the Welsh.”

“I told you he was good.”

“Yes – ever so good. The best we’ve ever had.”

“Please don’t express your own opinions, dear.”

“Sorry dear. It was the excitement.”

“It’s ever so exciting.”

“Yes – ever so exciting”

And with that they wandered off, presumably to confuse and annoy some other witty gentleman who was otherwise preoccupied with an awful lot of toast.

I felt like I was going to burst at the seams (I had already unfastened my trousers while Francois Devine was looking out of the window at an elderly lady who was trying to steal some flowers from the middle of the roundabout). Was this what it was like to be Francois Devine? This perpetual gluttony? I couldn’t move a muscle and was appalled to see Francois Devine brushing crumbs from his mouth and indicating to the waiter that we were ready for our Runaway Fried Breakfast.

“What do you think those two strange people were talking about?” I asked as I pushed a piece of black pudding around my saturated plate.

“I believe this leaflet explains the matter” he said matter of factly.

I took the pamphlet and saw it was some kind of advertisement for the street party being held in my honour later that evening.

“Bendaton is proud to welcome Britain’s leading Dennis Brent impersonator” I read aloud. “It is just like the real thing only better because it isn’t the real thing.”

I was appalled.

“So those two weirdoes thought I was the Dennis Brent impersonator?”

“You do look awfully like him” said Francois Devine, adding “Do you want those eight sausages?”

“Of course I look like him – I am Dennis Brent. The original you might say. Oh dear oh dear. This will not do. This simply will not do. I can’t have people going about the town thinking I am impersonating myself.”

“Certainly not. Have you finished with your beans?”

“This is the thin end of the wedge.”

“Quite so. Could you spare a tomato?”

“It is humiliating.”

“I agree completely. Would you mind if I pooled our eggs?”

“The sooner I get to the Bugle offices and clear this matter up once and for all, the better.”

“You are quite right. It would be a pity to let that bacon go cold.”

“I’ve half a mind to go round there right now and hang the rest of luncheon.”

“I’ve always admired your ‘can do’ spirit. Would you miss a few of those mushrooms?”

“After all, the longer I sit here, the more people are likely to come over and be all… nice to me.”

“It is a dreadful picture you paint. Could I borrow those hash browns?”

“If I’d wanted people being nice to me I would’ve… well I don’t know what I could’ve done differently.”

“Good point. Can I lick your plate?”

“Excuse me” said a pathetic voice at my elbow.

“What is it?” I snapped.

“I’m honoured to meet you and I’d like to give you this.”

He handed me a large envelope. I held it warily.

“Will it explode?” I asked.

“Of course not” he replied.

“You open it, just to be on the safe side.”

“Fair enough” he chirped. He unfastened the flap and took a folder from the envelope. “It’s a few photos I was given by my uncle. He said they are telesnaps from a series called ‘Adventures into Space’.”

It was as if time froze for a moment.

“Don’t be pathetically stupid” I said wittily. “There are no telesnaps from ‘Adventures into Space’. The BBC archives have been checked most meticulously.”

“My uncle John took them in the mid 60s but no one wanted to buy them so they stayed in his attic until he gave them to me. He made me promise I’d never give them to Dennis Brent but since you’re the world famous Dennis Brent impersonator I thought you’d be the ideal man to give them to. You could use them in your act or something.”

I looked at the photographs he’d given me. They were undoubtedly genuine ‘Adventures into Space’ telesnaps. I nearly wept with joy. It was exactly the same as the time Henry the Seventh found the crown of England in a bush on Bosworth Field. There was literally no difference.

“I’ll see you later I expect” said the beautiful young bringer of the holy grail. “At the party I mean. I can’t wait.”

Francois Devine had been too busy licking my plate to notice what had just happened. I put the telesnaps back in their envelope and looked thoughtful.

“Are you off?” he asked.

“Off?” I replied.

“To the Bugle to correct their mistake.”