I thought it had all caught up with him. 5X, that is.
In work, half time in the Saturday football, I went to the jacks and noticed the gents was occupied. Didn't pay it a second thought as I rambled into the ladies - they have an electric hand-dryer in there and no crud on the wall, far more amenable. So far, so average pissy weekend working day.
The next bit got my juices a-flowing.
Leaving the washroom I met Nick Royle. Nick pointed out that the gents had been locked for at least an hour. It then struck us that 5X had left his desk and hadn't been spied for some time.
"Get the security guard, and waste no time," commanded Nick. "I think Derek's keeled over from exhaustion of some sort. Hurry do!"
So I meandered downstairs, figuring all the while that 5X had had a good innings and that he would've wanted it this way, this faux '60s rock star demise. Still, for the sake of decency I alerted the security guard, Tony, and we hit the third floor.
At this stage I became nervous, I don't mind telling you.
I mean, dead or merely collapsed from the shindig, I knew I'd be the first in and that I would definitely see 5X's cock.
There was no way around it. It was a sight I'd avoided through seven years of life partnerdom, but everything passes. I held my breath.
We broke in.
Nobody there. Somebody had managed to lock the toilet from the outside, the cubicle unoccupied.
Next thing, the lift pops open and out steps 5X, seeming fitter than a fiddle and very much cogent.
Nick hugged him, thankful that the colour was very much in his cheeks and that he was comfortable and vertical.
I hugged him too, relieved, o so relieved, that again I had avoided meeting le tigre. May my well of fortune never run dry...