A Maserati passed me at Stirling. It so like evoked Fatmammycat in her shiny leather catsuit. That’s right. In my mind that’s what she always wears.
I know what you’re thinking : it must chafe and squeak. Well she’s worth it.
As I drove on, I pictured us both in my luxury jet, flying off to somewhere tropical, you know? Somewhere like so long haul.
It was great. We had in-flight Cobb salads and afterwards she had a bloody mary while I drove over the rumble strip onto the hard shoulder. Whoops.
Those rumble strips are a triumph of British ingenuity. They stop you drifting right enough. After that I toned down my fantasy considerably.

By the way SheBah, if you’re reading this, I am six one with smooth golden skin, long sensitive fingers and the darkest liquid eyes. I love painting, especially WW2 fighters and bombers. I can play trad on the piano and smoke on the water on the guitar. I’ve got a fuzz box.

let’s get back to those toned-down fantasies;

• for the Friday booze run to Tesco, I now dress her in boots, britches, cravat and give her a riding crop. Yoiks! Halloo!
• for the bar supper down at Wetherspoon’s, it’s Emma Peel’s jumpsuit from the Avengers. Two mixed grill sizzlers please!
• for clubbing at the Ice Factory, I’m thinking Dallas Cowboys cheerleader with like, cowboy boots and silver cap guns. TOUCHDOWN!
• and for watching Celtic on Setanta in the front bar, a simple and elegant French maid’s outfit with feather duster. Deux kir? Oui s’il vous plait!

It’s not the same without the duster. Everyone knows that.
Some nights I dream of finding solutions to mathematical functions but not so much recently.

And when the dam breaks, many years from now…