I dated Wilfred Penifere once. It was stupid of me, but I had to win a bet with a friend who said I wouldn't dare do it. The five quid I won from her was not worth the experience, I can assure you. The poor wretch was so pitifully eager to please and made an utter ass of himself in a great variety of ways which I haven't the heart to recount here. It was one of the most uncomfortable evenings I have ever spent. The episode at the restaurant was tragic, and I have never returned there since. It was mortifying! Has anyone seen the Woody Allen movie where he goes with Diane Keaton and her beau to a Chinese restaurant and attempts to impress Diane's girlfriend whom they have set him up with. It was like that. But worse! You'd have to see it to believe it. There is no hope for Wilfred. None. He should give up on women entirely and become a renunciate in some godawful hermitage somewhere where they all shave their heads and engage in solitary vices better imagined than described. I must have been utterly mad to have taken that bet.