Can’t pull in England? Buy a Thai girl, he told me

On Sunday morning early I was trying to hitch a ride home. A big white Mercedes van came haring around the bend. I stuck out my thumb and it swerved violently and stopped beside me. ‘A good night, then, was it?’ said the driver as I collapsed into the passenger seat. A comedian. Young fella. Wide awake. Chewing gum. Loving the life. It must have been my glassy eyes and my crumpled, slept-in jacket that gave me away. I had a think. Not bad, I said. I listed the names of the pubs and the two clubs we’d been to. ‘So did you pull?’ he said.

Pardon? I said. ‘Pull. Last night. Did you get hold of anything?’ he said. It’s true, I told him, that it would have been nice not to have frozen half to death in the foetal position on a pal’s tiny sofa with a tea towel for a duvet, and been invited instead into a warm and spacious bed.