Who: Terence Higgs, Sebastian Stebbins
Where: The Grotto
When: 26 October 2001, evening
“Stebbins is my buddy. His family sells whiskey and mine sells hangover potions. It’s a match made in heaven.”
“No, Higgs, seriously, if you were a woman for the day, what would you do?”
“I am going to go on Sibling Swap and swap Amelia for Stebbins. They both have blond hair so no-one will notice. If the show doesn’t exist I’m going to create it.”
“I bet Higgs could hold a martini in both hands and still retain his innate masculinity. Because that’s just who he is. Manly to the core.”
“I think a pumpkin martini should be served in an actual pumpkin. Where’s my pumpkin???”
“But is a martini still a martini if it’s not served in a martini glass?”
“You know what I like about pumpkins? They can be sweet or savoury. People should be more like pumpkins.”
“Do you mean we should be able to carve things in their faces? So if they’re not handsome or pretty we can just make them so? Like a public service!”
“That wasn’t what I was thinking, but you’re right. People do need to be prettier. We could really help them.”
“I’m not even drunk. Not even a bit. And how many of these would you say we’ve had? Five? And I don’t even feel a thing.”
“I want to immortalise this evening forever. I’m commissioning an oil painting! NOBODY MOVE FOR THE NEXT FIVE HOURS.”
“Yes, for we need to commemorate this evening, the best of all evenings. WE NEED A PUMPKIN!”
“But pumpkins rot. We need something immortal. Like an elf. Anyone got any elves for sale?”
“No, wait, wait, wait. I am a genius. Seriously. What we need is ink. We need to get inked.”
“Right. Because tattoos are immortal. Gotcha.”
“An immortal reminder of this most excellent of nights.”