Author Alexander McCall Smith once observed, “Great feuds often need very few words to resolve them. Disputes, even between nations, between peoples, can be set to rest with simple acts of contrition and corresponding forgiveness, can so often be shown to be based on nothing much other than pride and misunderstanding, and the forgetting of the humanity of the other… ”
As a serial feuder, Piers considered that same perceptive analysis above, when a text arrived from Jeremy Clarkson in the early hours of Friday morning.
Morgan, Clarkson here. We should stop it. Drink?
After almost a decade littered with mutual scars of verbal, literary and on one particularly notorious occasion, physical abuse, Pier’s arch nemesis was offering a peace summit.
Piers was understandably surprised, but responded:
Pint in the Scarsdale?
They frequent the same west London pub.
At 7pm that night, they arrived exactly on time, Jeremy on a bicycle, Piers on foot, shook hands and marched to the bar – as startled locals spontaneously choked with disbelief on their pork scratchings.
For the next four hours, they sat outside and drank. Piers consumed vast quantities of London Pride bitter and Rioja. Jeremy had four gallons of house rosé.
And as the alcohol flowed, they agreed that what their mutual friends have always insisted may well be true – the reason they feuded for so long was because they are so similar: quiet, modest, devoid of opinion, and universally loved.