Tim, my co-host on Resonance FM, has a fiancé in her mid twenties. A lovely girl she is, too. After the programme last night it was mooted that we walk to a pub off Oxford St to meet up with her. Tim received her suggestion of pub rendezvous via mobile phone. “Yes…. OK… Right…. Great Titchfield Street! OK…. Fine. Bye.” Of course, this has prompted me to adopt the phrase “Great Titchfield Street!” as an exclamation of surprise, or indignation. e.g.

Jenny: “I'm leaving you, you tedious moron.”
Rhodri: “Great Titchfield Street! Do you know your own mind, woman?”

or

: Rhodri, la! I've left the iron on and my room is on fire!
: Great Titchfield Street, ! Fetch the extinguisher!

Anyway, we walked down Great Titchfield Street, passing several perfectly adequate pubs with plenty of seats, and ended up at the Crown And Sceptre where people were spilling out onto the street, shouting and falling over. This is clearly the kind of place that people in their mid twenties enjoy. We stood at the bar drinking for an hour or so, by which time the post-work boozers had cleared off to shovel down a ready meal and watch UK Gold, leaving the pub sparsely populated. I suggested that we sit down. Tim's fiancé looked at me incredulously. “Sit down? Sitting down's for losers.” So we carried on standing up. I turn 33 on Friday, and am intending to hold some kind of low-key celebration on Saturday, if I can get it together. Can I reassure everyone that “sitting down” will be of paramount importance. I'll even hire in deckchairs if necessary.