My dad used to say that the mark of a good waiter or waitress was that they would always be looking around to see if anyone wanted to catch their eye. A fair point. I pride myself on being a low-maintenance diner, unlikely to grumble or make a scene unless the food is stone cold or has a dead mouse in it, or something. Even then, it’s hardly the fault of the waiting staff. But, yes, it is a bit annoying if you want something and can’t get anyone’s attention.

What I find more annoying, though – and I don’t feel good about saying this – is getting too much attention.

This is something I feel ashamed to grumble about. But it’s that business of being asked if everything is OK. It’s a nice gesture, indicating some interest in the happiness of the customer, but it’s all about the timing. There I am, glass in hand, well into the opening phase of a world-beating anecdote, with which I feel confident of wowing the table, when a member of staff materialises next to us. To me, it’s no different from being at Stratford, delivering Hamlet’s first soliloquy, only to become aware that a caretaker has wandered on to the stage. I know it, the audience knows it, the intruder knows it.

I have two choices: plough on, finish the story, probably an abridged version; or, more likely, just stop mid‑sentence. Is everything OK? Well, yes and no. The food is fine, but my anecdote is in tatters.

I find it impossible to recover from this interruption. Apart from anything else, it allows time for the dreadful realisation to dawn that the anecdote wasn’t much cop anyway. No one at the table looks bothered that they have not heard it out. No one says: “Oh, do go on! Finish the story! It would be terrible if you didn’t.” Humiliating.

On reflection, I don’t know what I would do differently if I were the waiter. He can’t simply shrink away while I’m talking, leaving the question unasked. Neither can he stand there forever while I round things off. That would be almost intrusive, as if he were listening in. Although, when I finally got to the punchline, if he laughed and applauded rapturously, I would find it in my heart to forgive him – and doubtless double the tip.

Adrian Chiles is a writer, broadcaster and Guardian columnist

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