We had a houseful last night, 20 of my daughter’s friends aged between 25-27 and three little ones. My wife and I looked after the food so the hostess could enjoy herself, the plan was we’d feed them and then retire, but it didn’t work like that, we were in the thick of it throughout the evening.

At a quarter to one in the morning, a couple of the lads decided, in spite of all the food left over, a korma was required. two of the more ‘refreshed’ lads went off with the designated driver to get this, and a Jalfrezi for a braver chap.

When they returned I started to wash plates as they were all in the dishwasher, along with the food the chaps returned with another, equally refreshed chap one of them had met only a couple of times before, who was outside the Indian takeaway.

Our new chap was perfectly jovial and amenable, I stopped seeing to the plates and got him a drink, being much older than anyone else there, he was a little bemused as to who I was but his impaired judgement had him believe I am a great guy, he said so about 15 times.

I proceeded to plate up the Korma, and the Jalfrezi, which was in a sauce you could see 30 miles away, our new guest asked one of the chaps who I was. At the very same time the chap he asked was told by his wife that she wanted to go home. So on asking who I was our new friend heard the words “Bubba (pet name, not her actual name you understand) look at Tony, he’s dishing up” but to our new friend it was “Bubba Lookatoni, he’s dishing up” and our new friend decided my name must be Bubba Lookatoni.

Not only did he proceed to call me Bubba for the rest of his time with us, he asked me if I was on Facebook and do I spell my name L.O.O.K.A.T.O.N.I or E or Y?

As they left, each guest called me Bubba, and I suspect I’ll be called Bubba for a time to come.