"Is that piss?" he asks as we walk down the street on the way to a restaurant.

My Candadian Girlfriend, him, his wife and I are going out for a meal.

It turns out that my friend's husband seems to have an irrational fear of urine. His wife tells us how he would cross the street and dodge traffic to make sure that he doesn't walk though a steaming stream of sidewalk wee. I am not sure what harm he thinks will come of him if he does step in some. It's unlikely that the pee will be able to corrode it's way through his Timberland boots and his socks and touch his foot.

And it'll probably have dried out hours ago anyway.

And even if it did touch his foot I do no see what harm it will do? It may not do any harm but it is unlikely to do any good either. He has not been stung by a Jellyfish and - as every Friends fan will tell you - that is a good cure for Jellyfish stings.

During dinner, I find out that he is obstinate in his tenets. He will not hear any argument on the merits of England's football team, race equality or where to buy curtains that completely block out all the light. (The answer seems to be Next, if you are interested.)

After we have had our desserts, we leave the restaurant and something, not even Mystic Meg would have prediceted, happened. He got his just deserts. A blue BMW drives by as we are trying to cross Deansgate. The window is wound down and a balding man leans out. He has a pint pot in his hand and throws a clear substance at my friend's husband and completely drenches him.

My Canadian Girlfriend, his wife and I try and stifle our laughter.

Continued tomorrow