She wasn’t on the train. I waited by the barrier so I wouldn’t miss her. But she never came.
I had was about to leave when I heard a familiar clippety-clop. Turning around I saw Carole, teetering towards me on her white stilettos (what Germaine Greer likes to call ‘fuck me’ shoes) She was dragging one of those cases with wheels and a handle.
(You remember Carole? Council Estate? Husband Gary – inside? I’ve had many an enjoyable ride on her little Vespa.)
Coincidence? Synchronicity?
It turned out to be nothing of the kind.
‘Well, don’t stand there gawping –‘
‘But how… I mean why… where is Anastasia?
‘Cool it Buster. First things first. Where’s the nearest pub? Do you know, I’ve been two hours on that train – without a bar.’
We adjourned to the Station Hotel.
Note for RJ: I think you are mixing me up with someone else. The only time I met the lady in question she was married, with two children. Remember, you are much older than I am.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
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