Tom moves 3,000 miles South.
A phone-call - an uplifting Transatlantic phone-call -from my publisher Idle Tom.
"Tommmyyyy!" I said. "Good to hear you! How are all those deals going? You chowing down into lots of burgers and ten-inch steaks?"
"Nope," he said. "Though they are very big on their beef here."
"Well of course they’re big on their beef. The Americans can’t enough of the stuff can they?"
"Well I’m not in the US of A. am I?"
"You’re not in America??" It’s surprising that, even though I’ve known Tom for a year, he still has the ability to surprise me. Generally I’d thought I’d seen it all from him. Yet always he has a new turn up his sleeve. "Where are you then?"
"I’m in Argentina! It’s great! Have you ever been here? The women are just beautiful! Every time I walk down the street, I fall in love ten times over -"
"But, umm, but I thought you were supposed to be in New York making deals -"
"Deals - schmeals!"
"Deals-schmeals?? What the hell have you been taking?"
"And Heyy!" he said. "You’ve got a date for me too! That woman in Dunfermline - Sly you’ve called her. And she really wants to meet me?"
"Well, she was last week. But doubtless you’ll have about ten Argentine girlfriends by Friday."
"Oh no no no!" he said. "Look but don’t touch."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah - that’s right. I can’t speak the language - they can’t speak English …"
"But Tom," I said. "They sound just perfect for you!"