It took me ten minutes to finish in the bathroom, though when I came out I looked like a refugee from a war zone. I had patches of blood and sticky paper all over my face and my hair stood up like it had been through a wind tunnel. ‘It’s your fault,’ I sulked as I came into the kitchen where my mother was waiting with another packed lunch.

      ‘You’ve got no time for breakfast now,’ she said lovingly. (One minute she’s going crazy, and the next she’s sweet as apple pie. I’m sure she’s an alien.)

      ‘Anyway, I’ve put you an extra apple in, and one of them choccy biscuits you seem to like so much.’ (She doesn’t know those revolting choccy biscuits are the first thing to go in the bin when I got to the bus stop.)

      I grabbed my coat and made for the door. I didn’t want to give her the idea that she can shout at me, and then just forget it, like it never happened.

      ‘Look, Ben, I’m sorry for shouting at you, but you really have got to pull yourself together.’ (She can read my mind!) You’ve lost your wife; you don’t seem to be making much headway at work…I mean, look at the state you came home in the other day.’

      ‘What state was that?’ I was in no mood to give in.

      ‘Your suit appeared to have shrunk and your best leather shoes were all wrinkly; not an image you want to present to the customers. And what’s more, you have no home, no ambition, and very few prospects for the future.’ She made that sad face, ‘What’s going to become of you, Ben?’

      By the time I got out the door, my self-confidence was shattered, my self-image had taken a real knocking, and my heart was in my boots.

      Walking down the street muttering to myself, I realised she was right. I was kidding myself. I was a joke at work, nobody respected what I had to say, and if the boss sold up tomorrow, I’d be out of a job. I was already broke. I had one woman spreading lies and chasing me at every turn, and another who said she doesn’t want me, but has threatened to kill me if another woman even looked in my direction. Then there’s Poppy, who’ll nag me to death, even though she fancies me rotten. But she’s just a kid, and besides I’ve heard her shamelessly rattling them off in the yard…how off-putting is that?’ Some lady she is, I must say!

      I wasn’t bothered if I missed the bus, or even got to work at all; I leaned against the wall, wondering if anyone would care if I ended things right here and now.

      ‘Hey!’ It was Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants.

      ‘What d’you think you’re doing lolling against the wall like you’ve all the time in the world? The bus is coming in…look!’ Grabbing my arm he ran me all the way down to the bus stop. I must have dropped my precious lunch box because when we scrambled on to the bus, there was no sign of it. Oh, God! No little-boy lunch box! The day was already brightening. Perhaps I won’t end it after all; well, not just yet anyway.

      ‘Hey!’ Giving me a dig in the ribs, Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants was going on about some girl he met at the cinema. ‘Sat next to me she did,’ any little thing pleased him. ‘I offered her some of my popcorn and she dug in like a little trooper.’

      I pretended to listen, but to tell the truth, I was a bit jealous. How does he do it? He’s long and thin, wiry as a whippet with a pineapple-top hairdo, yet there he was, sitting quietly in his seat at the cinema, when the girl next to him dipped into his goodies. No strings or conditions, just casual like.

      ‘Really?’ I wasn’t all that interested. ‘And did it go anywhere?’

      ‘What?’ Staring at me with fish eyes he looked evil.

      ‘I said…did it go anywhere? I mean, did you kiss her? Did you take her home afterwards?’

      ‘No.’ He looked embarrassed.

      ‘No…what?’ I wasn’t going to let this go!

      ‘No, I didn’t kiss her.’ He was looking shifty now.

      ‘Why not?’ I persisted.

      Just then the conductor came for the fare. (It’s high time this lame government did something about public transport. In any civilised country, public transport to work should be free.)

      Under protest, we paid the fare and when the conductor moved on, I prodded Dickie Manse brains-in-his-pants, ‘Well?’

      ‘Well…what?’ I could see he was trying to avoid the subject.

      ‘Why didn’t you kiss her?’ I said.

      ‘Because I…didn’t, that’s all.’ He wouldn’t look at me.

      There was something strange going on here, I thought. ‘Ah, I see!’

      ‘No! It’s not what you think…she didn’t slap my face or anything like that. In fact we got on really well…until…’ He blushed deep scarlet.

      ‘Until what?’ I had noticed on other occasions that when he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbed frantically up and down. Right now, it was going up and down so fast, it was like one of them balls in the Lotto draw.

      ‘Look, Ben, I know I like the girls, and sometimes they like me, and that’s fine. But sometimes it just doesn’t work out. So if I tell you the truth, you won’t laugh, will you…because if you laugh, I’ll feel worse than I feel now and frankly I feel terrible.’

      ‘Crikey, Dickie…you didn’t try it on did you…right there in the cinema? I mean, she didn’t raise the alarm did she, and get you thrown out?’ Already I was beginning to chuckle. Sometimes he can be a right prat.

      ‘No, that’s not what happened, and I’m not saying any more, because I knew you’d laugh. You always do!’

      There was a moment of silence between us. He didn’t stop biting his lip, while I was thinking how it served him right, because he thinks he’s God’s gift and at the end of the day he’s just a pathetic loser, like me.

      ‘Ben?’ Dickie said in a small voice.

      ‘Now what?’ Honestly!

      ‘You think I’m a loser, don’t you?’ he continued.

      ‘Course not, why ever would I think that?’ That’s twice today somebody’s read my mind. Ooh!

      Dickie seemed to think about it. ‘So, you won’t laugh if I tell you what happened, will you?’

      ‘I’ve already