He was huge. Wellactually he was about the same size as me. It was just that I wasn't thesame size as me anymore. He was broader though, had a mop of ...loppybrown hair and chiselled face that was currently with the look ofsomeone who was very pleased with himself. He was dressed in a rugbyjersey (sporting his old university coat of arms of course), jeans andblue deck shoes. Frankly he looked like the kind of twat that madeevery American think that every Englishman was a bumbling Hugh. The women at the bar looked at each other, and as one they silently stood and moved over to the tiny dance floor. As one they held each other in a very stylised Argentine Tango embrace, their breasts and hips pressed together, and through the opening bars of the music they hardly moved from the spot. Instead, their feet wove in and out between each other. It reminded me of the way a cat will weave in and out of your ankles. How striking it was, the way they looked into each other’s. "My cover'sblown." It was blown years ago," she said. "But don't feeltoo bad. You aren't any different from the rest ofthe male population." Balls," I responded. "The hell I ain't. I'm adoctor of journalism." Let's get to work."I grabbed my tape recorder and followed her out thedoor. Dr. Gonzo was now shouting at Nixon. "You saidyou had a secret plan to get us out of Vietnam, man. And if you hadn't smeared his running mate McGovernwould have kicked your ass!" What's the plan?" I asked, chasing. ‘J, you’re really not helping me, are you? Look, I’ve got an hour to get ready before Steven comes to pick me up, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, okay?’ Hanging up the phone and getting ready to swing myself out of bed, I completely forgot about my sprained ankle. Forgot, that is, until I tried to stand on it. The pain lancing through my leg was almost crippling, and I sank back onto the bed. ‘These things always hurt more the next day, dumb-ass, ‘ I reminded myself. I reached over,.