The Cliff Beckons.

You know you’re really in trouble when you find yourself listening to Abba ‘classics’ in the early hours of the morning (another reason to make for Beachy Head without further delay.) And all because it reminds you of a woman you once knew…

(Our affair lasted sixteen years and was never consummated, because whereas I had a sense of adventure, she merely had good sense.)

My mother was vaguely privy to several of my dalliances, and she used to like adding descriptive appendages to their names for the sake of making their identities unequivocal. One was called Job Centre Janet, for example. Another was Pickled Onion Sarah. I doubt that further elucidation would add greatly to the canon of useful knowledge, so I won’t bother. It’s a long drive to Beachy Head.