At Sods 2 this evening, Mr B observed that I'm fairly non-confrontational. I suppose that's a corollary of usually being the smallest person in the room, not to mention the one with the arms least likely to be able to lift a sack of rice. I've also rationalised it as a general unwillingness to argue with people who aren't worth the time it takes to argue with them. In this, Terz and I differ, as do Mrs B and I, as ably proven by tonight's little near-fracas: While she kept talking to the guy, I sat on the sidelines and suppressed the urge to shout, "Moron!", like the European guy in the Volkswagen ad, at the guy in question.

Eventually, Moron! left, we all had a swig of whiskey to wash away the bad taste, and peace was restored to the land.