status, though he kidded himself otherwise, was more of Cockney chancer. Car ownership constantly troubled Jeff too, a typically male perspective. Bryan whizzed around swingin’ London either in the Mini, a present from his doting dad, or a newly acquired adman’s sports car, a gleaming red TR4. Compare that to Jeff’s much-prized company car, the Rover, which he banged on about ad nauseum yet could never afford himself. Yet which one could really lay claim to having the biggest and best appendage?
‘It’s not the size of your knob, it’s what you do with it,’ was one of Bryan’s favourite quips. Perhaps this was a reassuring statement for a man who knew damn well he wasn’t generously endowed. But as I was starting to realise as I found out much more about the ‘what you do with it’ bit, the art of self-deception knows no bounds whatsoever when it comes to the fragile male ego.
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