Big mouth strikes again

When I invite Michael Winner to lunch at McDonald's in Wood Green he readily accepts, as I rather knew he would.

I then feel bad and even try to talk him out of it. Michael, I say, Wood Green is known locally as Hood Green for all its prowling hoodies; hoodies who are mostly accompanied by those powerfully squat, fat-bollocked Staffordshire Bull Terriers sometimes called Tyson and sometimes called Killer. Michael, I continue, last time I went to see a film in that badlands of north London and pulled down the seat, it had a huge penis graffitied on it. Michael, I further continue, when I opted to not sit on that seat – sit on a penis?; at my age? – and pulled down the next one it had "Fuck You!!" scrawled on it. Do we even think the second exclamation mark was necessary, Michael? Wasn't the point rather well-made with the first? Michael, you don't have to do this. I thought it would be amusing to take you out of your comfort zone, away from Sandy Lane or dining with your hundreds of celebrity friends (ie, Michael Caine) but I can now see it's a rotten, lousy, stinking, mean-spirited, cruel, low, putrid, patronising, cheap, shaming and pathetic idea. "Next Thursday, darling?" he suggests. And we're on.

So, McDonald's in Hood Green, which is situated on the high street, between an amusement arcade and a shop offering the faux-est of faux Ugg boots for £4.99, it is. I arrive first and wait outside; wait while keeping a safe distance from the two fat-bollocked Staffies already tied to the railings. (I have nothing against Staffies, by the way, and do understand they can be very sweet when not otherwise occupied with taking your leg or your nose off.) I am informed of Michael's whereabouts every two minutes or so. Either he calls from his car – "I'M ON GREEN LANES, DARLING!" – or his PA calls from his office: "HE'S ON GREEN LANES, DEBORAH!" I eventually spot his vintage Rolls-Royce nosing down the high street, past all the shops with "pound" in the title: Poundworld, Poundstretcher, Poundland; useful shops which may or may not one day go upmarket, as in Twopoundworld, Twopoundstretcher and Twopoundland. It's a small dream of mine. Anyway, Michael's driver parks up and then Michael exits the car. This causes quite a stir. Particularly among a group of large, black ladies who shriek hysterically: "It's the calm-down-dear, man ... it's the calm-down-dear, man." And then keep repeating: "Nice to see you, nice to see you ... calm down, dear!"

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