“Um, right, couple of hot ones, better make them large…Oh, and whatever you’re having yourself.”

The beauty of the English system, drinking on duty. Had cost me my career. He had a large brandy, saying,

“I don’t mind if I do.”

Kiki was sitting almost in the fire. I said,

“You’re hot.”

“You wish.”

I’m too old for powerhouse sex. But right there, right then, I felt the ghost of it. Handed her the drink, said,

“Sláinte.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Irish.”

“It’s lovely.”

Usually I don’t fuck with whiskey. No ice, no water, straight as an angel. Those hot ones though, they were good. We got another round, could feel the warmth to my toes. I asked,

“Where are you from?”

“ Hamburg.”

I’m sure there is a wise, not to mention pithy, reply, but I couldn’t summon it. My mind locked on Fawlty Towers with “don’t mention the war”. I said,

“Ah.”

She studied me closely, then,

“Fifty-three.”

“What?”

“You are fifty-three.”

Now I could hear the German, almost, you will be fifty-three. I said,

“Forty-nine.”

She didn’t believe me. The oddest thing was happening. In my head, I could hear the Furey Brothers with “When You Were Sweet Sixteen”. Not just a snatch, the whole song. For a moment, it drowned out everything. I could see Kiki’s lips moving but hear nothing. Shook my head and it ebbed. She was saying,

“Would you sleep with me?”

Another tinker was killed. I’d slept late, woke in disorientation. Where the hell was I? A comfortable bed, clean room, chintz curtains. Hidden Valley. Shit, I was a home owner. I liked the feeling. Took a slow shower, and with a tolerable hangover, I wasn’t hurting. Dressed in trainers, Brixton Academy sweatshirt. Went barefoot to get the benefit of those wood floors. Did some eggs over easy and, bonus, real coffee. The kitchen smelled good. I’d splashed on some Harley and blended in.