Loving your daughter’s like swimming in a whirlpool, I tell the tiny man. He climbs up on a chair and calls me over and kicks me in the nuts.

The bouquet lies between us, a reminder of better times. Remember when I gave you that bouquet? I ask. She picks it up to throw at me again.

We were drunk, stoned maybe, but we ate something dodgy and I ended up in a foul toilet. I didn’t come out until morning. And now I’m famous.