Naturally. This is your life! I said, ‘The ambience at Burger King isn’t to their palate.’

And now began the obligatory food fight, flicking fries and buns all over. He said, ‘Gotta hang a right.’

And was up and over to them. He put both hands, palms outspread on their table. This put a thug to his left, to his right, and directly facing him. His accent seemed like a roar.

‘Hi guys.’

‘Wotcha want fooker… Yank fooker.’

Course this led to a wild repartee and chorus.

‘Yeah, the fook you want wanker.’

‘Are you guys the real thing – lager louts’ (he pronounced it lowts) – ‘we’ve got broadcasts on you back home.’

‘Fook off wanker – put me shoe in yer arsehole – how d’ya like that then eh. Want yer fookin’ teeth up yer backside, yah wanker?’

He stood back, gave a huge smile and charaded a light bulb going off over his head, answered, ‘I know that word – you guys are implying I’m a self-abuser – have I got it right? But let me demonstrate what it is I actually do with my hands, OK?’

He bent slightly, then shot out both elbows to crash into noses left and right, then gave a bounce, gripped the table and headbutted number three. The sound of bones crackin’ was loud. He pulled back and came over to me, asked, ‘How’d I do?’

‘Lemme put it this way – can I buy you a drink.’

As we got out of there, a round of applause followed us. I’d say it did wonders for Letterman’s ratings.

We went to The Swan on Bayswater Road. I wanted away from my own manor. I ordered Scotch and he had Scotch rocks. I asked, ‘You’ve got some moves, where’d you learn ’em?’

‘Marine Corps.’

But he was staring at the painting behind the bar and the barman said, ‘This pub has been here since Bayswater Road was a lane leading from the Courts in Uxbridge to Marble Arch.’

When David showed no recognition, the guy continued, ‘Marble Arch, or as it was then, Tyburn, where they hung ’em! The condemned man and his escort would have a final drink here. See, that’s what the painting shows.’