We’ve ordered Thai food. “They say we can pick it up in twenty minutes,” says the Evil Sulphura.

“We should leave here in twenty minutes,” I say. “It always takes at least half an hour, and I always end up sitting in that crowded bit at the front, waiting with all the other gullible losers who believed it would only be twenty minutes, while an endless stream of smug winners swan past me and collect theirs straight away. They’re the smart ones; they’re the ones who waited an extra ten minutes.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. How do you even know they’ve waited another ten minutes?” says Sulph.

“It happens every time,” I insist. “There’s something triumphant in the way they swish their carrier bag as they leave.”

“They probably just ordered less than us.”

I take this as an accusation of gluttony. “I’m going to do some work on the computer,” I say, stalking off towards the study.

“We’re leaving in ten minutes!” Sulph calls after me. I pretend not to hear.

Ten minutes pass.

“Are you ready?” calls Sulph.

“I’m playing a game now,” I say. “I’m just finishing. Give me a few minutes.” I watch the clock tick: I have decided that I am going to prove my extra-ten-minute theory by forcing us to leave after twenty minutes. I have decided that tonight, I will be one of the winners.

“I’m hungry!” calls Sulphura.

“I can’t find my shoes!” I lie.

We leave after precisely twenty minutes, in something of a tense silence. As we approach the restaurant, Sulphura says, “it’s too busy to park: you jump out and I’ll drive round the block.”

“Make it a short block,” I say confidently, “because I’ll be out in thirty seconds.”

The car veers away. I race into the restaurant. The crowded bit at the front is crowded with empty benches. “I’ve got a phone order under the name Sulphura,” I say to the cashier.

“Oh sure,” says the cashier. “You’re pretty much the only order we’ve had all night. It actually only took about fifteen minutes, sorry.”

She hands me a carrier bag. It’s a freak event: I used to live opposite this restaurant, and I’ve never seen it empty. It proves nothing. The bag is cool to the touch.

I race out into the street and, seeing Sulphura emerging from a side street, I change direction too fast, tread on the edge of the kerb and twist my ankle, the loss of equilibrium causing me to involuntarily fling our tepid dinner about my head. I limp the rest of the way to the car, even though there’s no real damage.

“So,” says Sulphura, “did you feel like a winner?”

“Bloody Thai food nearly broke my ankle!” I cry.