January 10th, 1990
Just got home from a fun evening at Florence’s, with perhaps one (quick, somebody give me an abacus!) too many Black Russians. And how can it be twenty past three already?
“It’s so nice to see you,” I said, hugging my old friend.
“You too, love. Hard to believe you only live across the road.”
“I know, it’s mental how much time passes without me managing to actually find my way over.”
“Well you’re here now. What have you been up to?”
“Quite a lot, oh, I had a date last night.”
“Ooh, fill me in,” she said, handing me a glass of wine.
“Thank you. His name’s Jack and we had a really nice time together.”
“Is he from round here?”
“No, he lives and works in London but he was staying in Central MK for the night.”
“Dare I ask why?”
I laughed. “Nothing exciting, a work related early morning meeting.”
“Here for the night you said?”
“Uh-huh,” I uttered.
“Are you blushing?”
“No,” I stated. “Maybe. Am I?”
She laughed. “I do believe you are.”
“Well, as I was saying, Jack lives and works…”
“Yes,” she said, interrupting me. “You already told me that.”
“Eh, yes and what I was going to tell you next was where we went.”
“No need,” she chuckled. “Just cut to the juicy bits.”
I’d estimate it took several hours to spill the beans but without my abacus, I can’t be sure!