A certain sub-editor once at this newspaper and now with the Other Side rang me this morning saying that he had tickets for the filming of Deal or no deal, a cheesy quiz show where contestants can win up to a million dollars, and that he needed a partner. He had rung to ask (tell?) me that he'd like me to be his partner.

This is all very nice were it not for the fact that this man has often in the past told me I "should go on Sale of the Century" or Who wants to be a millionaire, or any other quiz show around. Despite my consistent refusals he persisted... and persisted.

Once upon a time I might have considered such thoughts, but these days, no. While it's all rather fun to answer such questions sitting in front of the telly, I have no doubts that the large holes in my brain, which these days prevent my recalling information rapidly (sometimes not at all), would under pressure open completely and I would disappear into my own memory lapse. So, no, I do not want to go on any quiz programs. Ever.

This morning when asked, I again refused, saying that I was busy on Saturday week (which I am, but even if I weren't, I would be); I was polite, but firm.

However, when he rang back later to ask whether next Saturday would be convenient I was forced to drop my nice-guy persona and say, rather loudly, "No, David", and hang up on him.

Now, I don't like being rude to friends (strangers? -- well, that's another matter) so I hope I haven't hurt his feelings too much. But he can't say he wasn't warned.