The art of conversation

T was a conversation I shall never forget. Not because of how interesting it was; in fact, far from it. Mind-blowing, earth-shattering even, in its unutterable tedium. I wouldn’t really have called it a conversation, more a one-way stream of verbiage with us merely nodding along. I was with an old pal, an MP, leaving the dining room after dinner at the Carlton Club, a private members’ establishment for those who lean to the right on St James’s Street. ‘How very nice to see you,’ he said to my chum. ‘Very good to see you, too,’ he replied, before introducing me. The chap in question was well into his dufferage, embracing the spirit of duffer, doubtless excited that with every passing year he could add