It was 1959 and I was 19 years old. I had left London and had accepted a position as a junior clerk in a large company in the north of England. I found a small, cheap bed-and-breakfast hotel run by Mrs. Johnson, a friendly motherly type, who made me feel instantly at home. I decided to stay there for a couple of weeks until I found a flat to rent. It was Friday and my first night in the city.
Now, it's not what you might think; I'm not talking about that annoying Microsoft Office pop-up. No, I'm talking about the London Clippy, more properly known as a bus conductress. This was long before the Oyster Card method of payment that you wand as you board a bus, through concertina folding doors. Back then there was no door, just an open platform at the back left hand side (e.g. the side facing the pavement). A driver would pull up almost one bus length beyond the painted sign that was attached to a post.
I'm a 36yr-old male, fit, healthy & very happily married to a lovely, warm, gorgeous sexy woman. You may have guessed what's coming next- I'm also cock curious!
I'm on a business trip to Amsterdam, and the meetings are finished ahead of schedule, with conclusions acceptable to all parties.
The e-mail was brief: Please call George and Phoebe.
I showed it to Gill. “Will you ring or shall I?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter.” she replied. “You call and I’ll join in on the extension if necessary.”
“Sound good, do you reckon?”
“It has been so far.”
When I was 19 I worked four nights a week in a youth club, St. Patrick's Y. C. It was a very popular youth club which attracted children and teenagers from a wide area in the west of the city. The club itself was actually a couple of large huts; the type you might find that act as additional classrooms in some schools.
The interior of the club rooms was bright and welcoming and housed a variety of seats, tables, snooker and table tennis table.