Actually, before I get cracking on New York I had almost forgotten.
A couple of days before I left I’d arranged to see my beloved bngr. She was being all cloak and dagger about it, and my Christmas present. Wanted to meet me in a car park before we went for dinner. Very All The President’s Men.
Then, when I got there she told me to get into the back seat of her car. As I pointed out to her then, the last time a girl asked me to do that…
Anyhew. There was a small suitcase in front of me.
“Open it”, she said.
Turns out she had remembered this as only she can:
It was glorious.
Mine. All mine.