My friend Jill and I laughed so much we had to prop each other up. We had taken our final glasses of wine – the four of us, two Jills, Pip and me – to sit in comfier chairs and chat after dinner. Jill and I noticed a short, dapper man come out of the dining room and, a few minutes later, return. We both saw his hand gesture low down in front of him and sniggered. “He’s having a little scratch” chuckled Jill. “He could have been doing up his flies,” I suggested, slightly more charitably.
An hour later, he came out of the dining room and vanished in the direction of the loo again. We made observations about the amount of beer he had been drinking or the weakness of his bladder. Then he came back.
He scratched his groin again. We were helpless with mirth.