‘Is it Giro day, Tom?..’
Staggering headlong through the week, tripping over whole days on the way to the toilet, crashing through the shrubbery and the delicately carved grottos spun from retrieved cartilage and icing sugar!
The Salon? What? Where? May the Fourth be what the fuck? Who are these people?
Ah, there’s Nigel!.. You remember Nigel, don’t you, o…