The lift doors open and I step in.
There is a man in the lift.
The man is a rather famous English actor.
“What floor?” he asks.
“Sixth.” I reply.
We go up towards the sixth floor. But the lift jams between the fourth and fifth.
There is an awkward silence.
“Oh dear.” he sighs.
“It’s ok.” I respond. “The lift’s not really broken. I arranged for it to stop so I could live out my ‘stuck in a lift with a Hollywood actor’ fantasy.”
He doesn’t laugh.
To protect the fact he is a humourless bastard he shall remain nameless.