Wetsoks approached me yesterday at work, took my hand very carefully and spoke in a confidential voice.
Wetsoks: Now, I don't want you to get upset-
Me: Oh god, why?
Wetsoks: Something has happened-
Wetsoks: Ronan Keating and his wife are splitting up.
There was a brief pause.
Me: Um. I thought they already had.
Wetsoks: (laughing hysterically) Don't you even care?
Me: No. I mean (grinning evilly) it's only words. And words were all he had to take her heart away.
Wetsoks: Ha! True dat.
Me: I guess maybe she didn't say it best when she said nothing at all.
Wetsoks: Indeed. And on a completely separate note, I'm thinking we should each choose 13 songs for the car journey to Loch Fyne on the Cublet's birthday.
Me: Why 13?
Wetsoks: Because (here please imagine someone yelling a lot of numbers very quickly, because this is essentially what happened) which makes sense.
Me: Okay Carol Vorderman, calm the fuck down. 13 songs. I bet you'll love my choices.
Wetsoks: On second thoughts, I want to be able to veto at least three.
Me: No veto.
Wetsoks: One veto.
Me: No veto. It's going to be 80s disco all the way. Hope you like partying like Lionel Richie. All. Night. Long. I might even wear my tshirt which says exactly that.
I exited the room.
Wetsoks: VETO! VETO? ....Dammit.