The Unusual Suspects

Friday night saw me in West London having dinner with 3 friends. For reasons which will soon become clear, I shall give them aliases and refer them as Irene, Pam and Linda.

We had a very pleasant evening dining in a restaurant affilliated to a certain football club. At the end of the meal we asked for our bill and, slightly fuddled by the wine we'd drunk, divided the bill in four. Pam and Linda chose to pay by credit card whilst Irene and I paid by cash. We put our cash on the table and waited for someone to come and take the card payments.

It took some time but a waiter arrived and asked how much we wanted to pay on each card. Pam and Linda paid their share and the waiter went away. Our cash stayed where it was. I went to the toilet and came back to the table. The cash was still there. We put on our coats - by now the waiting staff had changed out of their uniforms and were donning their coats too. No-one came back to our table.

We exchanged glances, had they forgotten to pick up our money? It seemed so. Coats on and handbags over arms, we hovered by our table and looked around. The few remaining staff were busying about resetting tables. What should we do?

We did what any right-minded people would do - we grabbed the cash and headed for the door. Pam and Linda scuttled off ahead, I was left bringing up the rear with Irene who, at 82 and in heels, was struggling to keep up and leaning on my shoulder for support.

We made our way up the road to the tube station, checking over our shoulders to see if we were being followed and laughing hysterically at our derring-do. At the tube station we split our booty, £17.50 each. Pam, Linda and I said goodbye to Irene and still laughing went down to the tube platform.

As we sat waiting for the tube Pam's mobile rang. It was the restaurant! We'd forgotten that she'd phoned to make the reservation so they would have her details. Linda and I had to look away as Pam did her best confused middle-aged woman act and spoke to the restaurant manager. She said that she was sure we'd left the cash on the table. No said the manager, all that was there was £3.50 in change. Pam said she couldn't understand it, we'd definitely put £70 down on the table. She would ring her other friend who'd gone home to see if she knew anything and ring him back.

On the tube back to Wimbledon, in between crying with laughter, we frantically thought of what to say. There was only one thing for it - blame Irene.

At Wimbledon station Pam called back the restaurant manager. There had been a mistake on our part. The elderly lady that was with us had inadvertently picked up the cash thinking it was her change. When Pam had called her, she'd checked in her handbag and there was £70 in there.

The manager was very understanding, these things happen. As Pam read out her credit card details, Linda and I sheepishly took out the £17.50 from our purses and gave it back to her.

How the restaurant manager fell for that story I don't know. Fair enough if you'd never met Irene - you could be forgiven for picturing her as frail, bent, hard of hearing and possibly slightly demented. In reality though Irene is straight as a pole, sharp-witted, elegant and glamourous beyond description. She looks how would imagine Joanna Lumley or Helen Mirren at 82.

Still, all said and done she is an octagenarian and, teamed with three ladies of a certain age, who would suspect her of anything underhand?

Moral of the story - if you want to pull a fast one take a granny with you, but don't book in advance.