In the Merde for Love

I could picture with perfect clarity how great it would be to see her walking towards me through the station crowd, a bag on her shoulder and a smile on her face.

short skirts that were kept hidden below desks until party season was declared open.

He did his ten minutes of blah about all of us thinking outside the box and staying in the loop, and before we had finished applauding and whooping, he had buggered off back to the USA to let us get on with our drinking.

Travellers were herding towards the barriers, digging for passports in their pockets, holding out tickets like batons in a relay race.

He was delighted, and told me again that I'd made a real man of Benoît. He sounded so pleased that I thought he might even do his son the honour of not trying to sleep with Katy. What a great Christmas present that would be.

one naked woman who was letting every curious traveller peer up between her legs.

had a brass overhead-luggage rack, where I slung my coat and my solitary bag.

I slurped the oysters down, remembering the night over a year ago when I'd had them for the first time at Jean-Marie's place and thought they tasted 'like bronchial mucus'.

wandering the corridors, touting in vain for new members.

rattling southwards through the night