WARNING: The following blog contains language not appropriate for small children or adults with a sensitive disposition. It is recommended that if you fall within either of those groups you stop reading immediately, switch on the TV and watch something a lot less upsetting such as Fox News or CNN.

The Maître D’, much to our dismay, leads the woman in the little white stolen dress over to the table right next to us. He pulls out the chair for her and fusses for a few moments.

“Do you still have the Brunello Reserve” she asks

The Maître D’ smiles with relief as he replies “We have been keeping it for you”

“Bring a large glass. Now.” she says

He scurries away.

She gets up and comes over to our table.

“It’s been one fucking day” she says, by way of introduction. It seems like a good opening line to me. Her accent is classic Brooklyn, straight out of the movies.

“I’ve been in court all fucking day”

A limited vocabulary when it comes to adjectives, I note. And it probably explains the stolen white dress. She desperately needed a drink after her “f******” day, but she needed to change first. So it was quicker to pop by TJ Maxx and “borrow” something on the way to the restaurant, than go home

“What are your names?” she asks.

We tell her.

“Nice to meet you Andrew, Nice to meet you Gordon” she says surprisingly primly, proffering a hand that tells me she’s more 65 than 45.

“I’m Angela. That’s Angel with an arrr” she says in her broad Brooklyn Accent. It’s obviously a well used line, but it doesn’t really work. She follows it up with “Do you know who I am?”

It seems a strange question to ask, so I say “You are an Angel with an a”

“I’m the fucking Queen of Howard Beach. Ask anyone. They all know me. The fucking Queen of Howard Beach. That’s who I am”

She talks in little, short sentences, each one expelled at a rapid rate, like machine gun fire.

At this point the Maître D’ returns with a large glass of red wine, which he places on her table. She sits down, empties half the glass in one swallow and stands up again. She can’t sit for more than a moment and when she stands, she keeps moving. Whatever she is on, it must be good stuff!

“Ask Gino. He will tell you. Gino, tell these boys who I am.”

“You are the Queen of Howard Beach” he says with great respect, leaving out the f****** adjective. He seems to bow just a little.

He doesn’t give her a menu but asks what she would like to eat. She is clearly the Queen of Bruno’s if not of Howard Beach.

“Pasta” she says. Not too helpful, but it’s a start.

“How about Rigatoni?’ asks Gino

“What the fuck is Rigatoni?”

“It’s the pasta that looks like a tube” He explains.

“Not the big tube” she says. “I won’t eat that”

” Penne Pasta then. That’s the smaller one. With tomato sauce?’ asks Gino

“OK. But not the stuff with lumps in it”.

Definitely a discerning gourmand.

The ordering and Gino both dispensed with, she returns to her favourite subject:

“I can’t believe you don’t know who I am. Didn’t you ever watch “I married a Mobster” on TV?”

“We must have missed that one” I say.

She picks up her phone to show us a photo. She doesn’t have to scroll through hundreds of photos to find it. It is right there, ready for her to show any unfortunate passerby

“That’s me” she says, pointing to the woman on the right

I am glad she told us. It is a little hard to recognise the woman we are talking to from the above photo

I want to say “WOW! That must have been a few years ago” but instead, trying to be nice for a change, I say “You look gorgeous.”

“effing right, I look gorgeous.” she replies. And here was me, expecting her to just say thank you!

“And I still am” she continues. “Just today two young black kids tried to pick me up at the courthouse. They could only have been 21 or 22. They told me I looked beautiful. Effing faggots – oh, I don’t mean no disrespect”. (Well, that’s good to know!) ” But what the fuck am I supposed to do with two 21-year-old black kids?”

I wasn’t sure whether she was actually asking me that, but I would be happy to offer some suggestions.

But before I could, Gino appears with her penne pasta, and a huge tureen of tomato sauce (no lumps). He carefully spoons some over her pasta. She is the only one to get served like that, and she is certainly the only one Gino waits on. She waggles her empty glass at him and then waves him away. He takes a discreet look at us and raises his eyebrows in what we take to be an apology for sitting her next to us.

“Gino is such a sweetheart” she says. If that is how she treats sweethearts, I hate to think how she treats everyone else.

“Not like Bruno, the owner” she continues. “He’s an effing arsehole.” She goes on to tell us that when she was very young, she lived in a fabulous apartment with her boyfriend. They were renting it from Bruno. One day her boyfriend went out and never returned. She was left alone in this apartment with no way of paying the rent. Bruno suggested a way! She rejected him. “effing arsehole” she repeats.

We asked what happened to her boyfriend.

“That was the last time anyone saw him” she says.

We are beginning to get a very clear picture of who she is!

She picks up her phone and makes a call.

“I am calling my son” she explains “someone has to pay for my meal.”

I hope he answers, otherwise it might be us!

He does. We can hear her telling him where she is.

“Yes, I am effing alone” she says.

“Yes, I’m effing sure.”.

She hangs up and says “He keeps asking if I am alone. Why the f*** is he asking me that?”

Then her phone pings telling her she has a text.

“He’s effing asking me again. What’s the effing matter with him?”

“Is he part of the mob?” I ask. Now there’s a question I never thought I would be asking anyone.

She laughs. ” No. He’s just a schmuck. I’m not Jewish, but that’s what he is. A fucking schmuck”

Suddenly Angela goes rigid. She is looking at someone over our shoulders. Her eyes widen. She stops moving. She stops talking. Someone she has seen has put her on high alert. Maybe even frightened her. I take a quick look and see a tall man coming our way. She sits ups straight and nervously pulls her dress down. There is a chill in the air which has nothing to do with the weather.

Who the hell is he………………