On the phone, late Sunday evening, dozing as we compare weekends and make plans, conversation inevitably draws back to how cold it is. Because we are British. And incredibly interesting.
I am always cold. I list what I am wearing; Pyjama bottoms, two tshirts, my enormous (and unwashed) university hoodie, and socks. I even have the hood up.
It dawns on me, when we hang up, that should Law fail as a career, I'd be a great phone sex worker. You know, for that niche sector that likes girls in oversized grubby layers. Filth!
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travels at home and away
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