We can all dream

So there I was, relaxing in an Olympic-sized swimming pool within the luxuriant grounds of the Playboy Mansion as a guest of the legendary Lothario Hugh Hefner, surrounded by a dozen beautiful ladies, all of whom were suffering from ‘Vestiphobia’ – the fear of wearing clothes.

That’s all types of apparel. Not just vests.

It’s a real phobia. Look it up. But not right this minute – or you might not finish reading this article, which would mean I’d wasted the entire six minutes it took me to write.

Oh yes! ‘Dedication’ is my middle name. Something I’ve never quite forgiven my parents for.

Lying there in the pool – which thankfully was very heavily chlorinated, as nobody had got out to visit the ‘loo’ for over three hours, even though they were knocking back copious amounts of booze – I found it heartening to see those poor girls bravely trying to disguise their debilitating phobia.

They laughed, splashed about, bounced up and down in the water and poured themselves large glasses of Cristal champagne.

What guts those plucky gels showed! We could have done with 2, 000 of them at The Battle of Rorkes Drift.

As I looked around the grounds and at the mock-Gothic house that’s been the source of so many eyebrow-raising, trouser-dropping stories over the decades, I saw a Hollywood  A-List actor with whom I’d become acquainted, approaching with his latest squeeze on his arm.

Funny place to have a pimple.

During dinner on the Friday evening he’d learned I was a comedian and asked me to tell him a joke. It went down so well I ended-up doing 20 minutes and had everyone doubled-up. I think it was laughter that doubled-them-up or it might have been the seafood cocktail starter, which I thought was a bit on the iffy side.

He reminded me we were meeting later to discuss a possible movie project that I could be co-starring in and as he left, I lay back in the pool, and ruminated.

Well as I said, the water was heavily chlorinated.

As I sipped my champagne, which I insisted had to be served in a pint glass because I never forget my working-class roots, I thought to myself, “Phil, old son. You are going to be so cheesed-off when you wake up!”