The conversation had stopped making sense after, approximately, the first three seconds. Coincidentally, that was also the point at which Randy decided to sit back, nurse his Coke, and let his nod-and-smile instincts - finely honed during his undergrad years - take over.

His dining companion didn't seem to notice and continued his tirade. Despite really, really not listening, Randy managed to catch every third word and was able to deduce that they were taking about something that had to do with time, mercury, and someone named Daniel.

After another minute and a half or so, his companion finally hurtled to a conclusion. Randy put down his Coke, considered his option, and then said, "So, what you're saying is you knew my grandfather?"

His companion, who may have been just barely old enough to have known Lawrence Waterhouse, made a deeply exasperated face. "As it happens, yes," he said, "but that is hardly my point."

Randy thought about this. He picked up a french fry, dipped it in his little paper cup of ketchup, and then decided he didn't really want to eat it anyway. His companion's plate was untouched and his glass of water almost equally so. This confused Randy slightly as he was certain the other man had been eating the entire time, and he couldn't fathom what the point of pretending to eat could possibly be.

"So what is your point?" he asked eventually.

His companion sighed and shook his head in a way that seemed to suggest that he had met a lot of morons in his life but Randy was something special.

"My point," his companion said, very slowly, biting out every word, "is that you should seriously reconsider fraternizing with that Shaftoe woman."