“Deeply Dippy was a good song, right?” said Fred, my drinking buddy.
“I liked I’m too Sexy!” laughed Amanda, his wife.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation.” A lady in a long red dress stood at our table. “Only, my husband and I have a disagreement.” She gestured to a corner of the crowded restaurant, to a man with coiffured white hair. “And we’d like you to decide who’s right.”
“What’s up?” said Fred.
“Well, Henry has ambitions to be a darts champion. When he gets home from work he spends the whole evening practising!”
“Is he any good?” queried Amanda.
“Well, he can throw 180’s and finish on a double with one dart – or so he says.”
“Hmm, has he won anything important?”
“No, but he’s our local pub champion.”
Amanda smiled, “I think he should aim for the stars!”
“Rubbish!” said Fred, “there’s loads of brilliant players out there. He’s got no chance of making serious money.”
She turned to me. “Well, you have the deciding vote!”
I reached into my pocket and brought out a set of state-of-the-art 95% tungsten darts with titanium shafts. “Let him have a go with these…”