I want to share a horror story with you.

Many years ago, May 1999, my wife and I were invited to the home of her colleague. On arrival, the wives went off to make ooh and ahh noises about the stupidly expensive flowers we'd brought.

I was left with the husband, who I had never before met.

My conversational opening gambit was: Midfielder Keane was suspended, as was Paul Scholes. It was serious stuff.

The chap looked at me askance. He'd never heard of Roy Keane. And Scholes were sandals weren't they? He believed Manchester United wore red , but his football knowledge ended there.

I broke into a cold sweat. How was I to make small talk with a man who didn't speak the universal language of football? By the time our wives came back 15 hours later (it felt) he was showing me his coin collection.

I'd been holding a 1930s five-lire piece for 10 minutes of quiet panic, with the only semi-intelligent thing I had found to say being: .

After we left I imagine the numismatist told his wife:

English is full of words which denote who is in, or not in, the club: whatever that club may be.

We all use codes. Any numismatist (not me, obviously) can identify an exergue. A plumber knows where grey water goes. An architect can place a corbel. An ophthalmologist is interested in your sclera. A chef might 86 it.

To read the complete article, see:
The numismatist reckoned I was the most boring person he'd ever met(https://www.thecourier.co.uk/fp/columnists/4782346/the-numismatist-reckoned-i-was-the-most-boring-person-hed-ever-met/)