‘Well,’ said my gay lawyer friend Stephen as I pulled over to drop him off at Sloane Square Tube, ‘it’s been a lovely evening. Absolutely lovely.’ And he opened the door and started to get out into Holbein Place, then stopped, as he always does, to have another little chat about how lovely the evening had been.
‘Yes, it’s been lovely,’ I said, leaving the car in Drive and fondling the gear stick ostentatiously to emphasise that I was not going to be parking.
‘Lovely,’ he said. ‘Absolutely lovely. What a nice evening.’
‘Really nice.’ And I pushed the shift up into Park and then back down noisily into Drive again. The Volvo made a dramatic shudder, which I knew it would.
‘Well, I must go. Must get going,’ he said, pushing the door wider open. ‘It’s been very, very nice.’
‘Yup, very nice,’ I said, letting the car roll forward a teensy little bit then slamming the brake on so that the Volvo shook as if there had been an earth tremor.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in