Getting home

Me, Phil, Bec, Debonair and May I Introduce You To My Mother stand outside after our fun night and say our goodbyes.

"That's a hard kiss," says May I Introduce You To My Mother.

"It's French," I reply. "One on each cheek."

I kiss Bec and give her a hug. She doesn't mind.

I kiss and hug Phil. She never does, never has, never will.

We hail a cab for Bec, we hail one for Phil. May I Introduce You To My Mother produces bike lights from his jacket pocket. Me and Debonair go to haggle a mini cab from outside the bar.

"Phil rang earlier and was quoted £26 so we don't accept higher than that," I say.

"I'll talk to them in Hindi, see if we can get a good price."

£30 they wanted. We get it for £25. We get into the cab.

"This isn't a BMW! I expect something nicer than this for £25!" says Debonair.

"Sorry?" says the driver.

"This is not a BMW! For £25 we should get better than this! What is this car anyway?"

"£25 sir."

"But this isn't the car I expect for £25!" continues Debonair.

"Be quiet," I say. "He's not getting your joke."

He's not quiet though. "Money now please," says cabbie.

"When we get there," Debonair and I say in unison.

"No, now."

"What if you crash?" I ask (I saw Masood in Eastenders last week...)

I have £20 on me but Debonair won't pay. "Get out of my taxi please."

Debonair says we'll get another on the main road and we get out. As we're walking he says:

"Do you want to go somewhere where we can have a smoke?"

"I'll go for a coffee or something but I don't smoke."

"You do smoke."

"No I don't, not hash or anything. Look, there's the 74 bus, it'll take us to Baker Street."

"No no, I don't smoke hash, anything like that. I don't usually smoke at all but sometimes I have cherry tobacco." He tells me about it, regales me with how nice it is, smoked through a pipe. With a cup of mint tea it begins to sound like a very nice idea.

He flags down a car but the driver won't take us. I see a bus coming in the distance. "Come on, let's grab it," and we run. It's going to Piccadilly. I can get a 24 from there. I've figured a way home, I'm happy.

I get on and punch my oyster. Debonair puts his railcard against the meter. A couple of passengers laugh.

"I never usually get the bus," he says as we sit down.

"No, I don't imagine you do," because I don't imagine he does.

Phil texts: "R U home?"

I reply I'm with Debonair on the bus. She replies: "He's a sweetheart, a real gentleman."
"He says he loves you," I respond.

I ask him if he got Bec's number. "Just friends, just friends," he says. "Yeah but did you get her number?" "Nice girl, we're friends." I dig abit to find out his relationship history. He went out with a girl for six years, broke up not long ago.

He's desperate for a wee so when we reach Piccadilly I suggest Bar Italia. It's the only place I know that's open that has loos.

I order a double expresso but he doesn't want anything. He says he's never been here before and I'm quite surprised but not surprised at all that he loves it.

We leave and I'm buzzing abit from the caffeine. He hails a cab.

"Do you have drink at your place?"

"A couple of beers and a bottle of Bailey's my mother out law bought me five years ago."

"Can I come back? You know drink, chat some more?"

"What now? OK then, no hanky panky mind."

He laughs: "What do you take me for? No hanky panky.... just talking!"

"Yeah I know but no harm in saying it!"

Off we go back to my flat, my mess, my life. Up until now I've not said a word about any of it but oh who cares? It is what it is! Papier Mache Towers, here we come!