‘So let me get this straight,’ I say, trying to get comfortable in the back of the van. ‘I agree to blog about you, and in return you will show me REAL magic.’
‘Right here at Westwood Cross?’
Not for the first time, I glance sideways at my mate Andy….but all he does is nod and say quietly ‘This guy is the real deal.’
I’m reserving my judgment. I’ve met too many so-called ‘wizards’…
I’m actually worried that we might get kicked out of Marks & Spencer. The security here is top notch and, despite the fact that we’re not actually doing anything wrong, we are drawing a lot of unwanted attention from the other customers in the restaurant. I guess it’s because we’re being quite noisy.
‘The blonde! The blonde!’
‘NOT the blonde: go for the old lady, Jay!’
‘You said THE BLONDE!’
‘Dave, don’t look around now….but I think the man by the stairs might be my father.’
If these words had come from anybody else, it would have been an incredible, life-changing moment, one of those moments that you always remember….like you’re always going to remember the day Cliff Richard finally goes bad and knocks over a post office.
But the words have come from Dean, and – as my friends go –…
I sit bolt upright in bed. I’m half naked and covered in a thin film of sweat, but I’m on my feet in seconds and I practically fly past my wife as she comes out of the bathroom. When she finally catches up with me, I’m bent over the sink splashing water on my face and muttering.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asks, worried. ‘Are you ill?’
‘No,’ I say, putting my hands flat on the sink and looking at myself…