On the Painful Twists and Turns of Fate

Late night in town, walking down Charing Cross Road, bladder full, it was obviously time to take advantage of the Trafalgar Square maze.

If anyone in uniform suspected what you were up to, they’d have to pick their way through the fiendish puzzle and by that time it would be bladder empty and the kind of “What me Guv?” expression sported by Naomi Campbell in The Hague.

In my dreams. Sadly, our newest attraction shuts at 8pm (and closes for good on Friday), so here’s a message to you Rooney: if you’re caught short down our way, do the right thing and piss up the wall of the National Gallery.

Of course, I don’t mean that last bit. But the agonising incident did remind me of being little and desperate and stuck in Hampton Court‘s much bigger maze.

Just be good and hold on for a few minutes more. I’m sure we’ve been this way before Mum. Your father says he knows what he’s doing. He did and I remained intact, like the other night when I swear to the judge that I remembered the facilities at Charing Cross station just in time.