'Do you know what we should do?' Charlie says in the next break. 'We should start a special club...'

'Like the Groucho?'

'Well, yes, in the sense that it will be a club. But no, because it won't be for media luvvie wankers and the coke-addled offspring of various giants of comedy and rock'n'roll.'

David giggles. 'So what sort of club, then?'

'A club for people like us. Where we won't be forced to talk to people constantly or smooze about pretending we liked someone's show-'

'- I can't say, Charlie, that I've noticed you doing a lot of that. Isn't it rather contrary to your job as a TV critic?'

Charlie looks a bit crestfallen. 'I have to be nice to their face, though. That's differet. It's like you going on Mock the Week and saying Gordon Brown's a massive tosspot. You wouldn't say that if you were having tea at No 10.'

'I might,' David protests. 'I'm very principled.' Charlie doesn't seem to know whether this is a serious remark, so David rolls his eyes. Charlie sniggers. 'I don't think your club will work, Charlie,' David continues. 'You've just admitted I'm the only other person you know who doesn't dance. There can't be that many of us out there.'

'Maybe you're right.' Charlie seems to be thinking about something. 'Do you want a drink after this has finished?'

'A drink?'

'Yes, a drink. Beer or coffee or whatever it is you drink. As we both write for the Guardian, we could have skinny lattes made with organic soya and just one shot of no-sugar vanilla syrup.'

'As long as the vanilla is ethically traded, that sounds good.'

'I might need to unwind by telling you exactly how much of a little jumped-up annoying tit Russell Brand is.'

'I would enjoy that very much. Though I must point out that he's a little tit who's book is currently outselling yours and mine by quite some margin.'

'Yeah, like I said, what a cunt.'