Bev, my agent, phones to say she's booked me in to do some after dinner speaking at the National Vasectomy Club of Great Britain Annual Dinner. It's a charity I like to support, ever since my own operation went slightly wrong, and I ended up with what the irrepressibly jolly surgeon rather distastefully referred to as 'a dishonourable discharge'. I think he'd learnt his trade in the army.
Anyway, once I had properly joined the ranks of those firing blanks, he asked me if I would care to sign up for NatVas, and I leapt at the chance (although leaping, or indeed any kind of strenuous exercise, was out of the question for months after that particular spot of nastiness).
Bev says the topic they want me to speak on is 'Getting Back on the Horse'. Not sure if that's very fair on the wives.