Real life | 25 April 2019

‘That’s not the builder boyfriend,’ said the luncheon guest as he eyed the builder boyfriend over the table.

‘Well then, who do you think it is?’ I asked the gentleman, who was sitting next to me with a bemused expression on his face. He had put down his fork and abandoned his fettuccine completely after I let slip that his favourite character was seated opposite. He shook his head. ‘No, no. That can’t be the builder boyfriend. He’s got a Countryside Alliance badge on his lapel. He’s not dressed like a builder.’

‘Funnily enough,’ I said, ‘I make him wear clean clothes when we go out. Were you expecting him to turn up for a lunch party in his work outfit?’

Normally, the BB wears ripped jeans covered in paint and a T-shirt bearing the logo of the Selco builders’ merchant, which he gets for free when he goes there to buy materials.

‘I just thought,’ said the chap, ‘he would look a bit more like a builder. But he looks, well, you know. Come on. He’s not a builder. He’s some sort of building consultant or construction firm owner or something.’

‘Thank you, on his behalf, for the compliment,’ I said. ‘But I can assure you the BB has only the most nodding of acquaintances with the concept of consultancy.’

The builder b sat on the other side of the table, oblivious to all this. He did look quite dapper. He had on a pink Ralph Lauren polo shirt I had earlier ironed after he found it stuffed down the side of the seat in his old truck; a pair of clean, unripped jeans, miraculously produced by me against all odds from the bottom drawer; and this had been topped on arrival with his beloved shooting jacket, which he has owned since long before I have known him.