Quirkie and I were out on Friday night and, after drifting into and out of a few venues, found ourselves in the beer garden at the Como Hotel. It was late in the evening, there weren't many patrons left, and the atmosphere was quiet and pleasant. We sat in the courtyard sipping our drinks, the lighting was subdued but not dim. Quirkie looked at me with terrific fondness and spoke, proving instantly that I'm not the only person round these parts capable of diabolical clangers.
What she assures me she meant to say: You are one of my dearest friends and I think you're gorgeous almost regardless of the circumstances, but I feel moved to say that the glow out here tonight is particularly flattering to you and serves to enhance all your best and finest features.
What she said: You look pretty in this light.