Mr Titfer

I have run out of slim-line filter tips and I'm having to use my emergency supply of fat ones that make me cough. It's only a quater past nine and kerry and the kids are all asleep. Listening to a radio programme about owl monkeys on radio four. And I suddenly feel very alone.
Earlier I stood with Mr Titfer at the bar and talked of nothing but everything while he sipped his pint. The twins were at the smoking table, so was Panic attack and Wilson, but I enjoyed being in the slow lane that is Mr Titfer's sole domain. Two years earlier he sidled up to me and said ...you know that blond fat bird I do? Yes...I said. Here have a look at this...he said. He shoved a mobile phone under my nose and showed me a video clip of them both in all their splendour. Since then, I have seen all of Mr Titfers conquests on video. I have stood at the bar and been introduced to them and I have said ...Hi, nice to meet you.. thinking...was that the one with the fist or the cucumber?...I still get confused. However, he has currently added Sara to his list...She aint as dirty as she looks... He said, as she walked towards us, approaching the bar and, once installed there, talked about her new flat all night.