Can I ask you something personal?”

Six inches but I tell everyone eight.

I've gotten really hot since you went blind.

I switched to wine – for better or worse and carried over – rather shuffled back to the table with an overflowing pint of ‘Jimmie Crickets Finest Burning Bum Bitter,’ or words to that effect. Is there such a thing as one-word bitter anymore? ‘Sgt Stiffies Severed Nippy.’ ‘Hair Of The Bastard Dog That Bit Me.’ ‘The Devils Own Salty Piss.’ I’ve never had a pallet for bitter. I was mainly a girly-drink-drunk.

Just erotic. Nothing kinky. It's the difference between using a feather and using a chicken.

But it is just two lovers, holding hands and in a hurry to reach their car, their locked hands a starfish leaping through the dark.

It's highly suggestive in various ways.