Chapter Twenty-Four
The Summit
Gyration Is The Lowest Form Of Dance.
So there I was sitting on a used newspaper on the edge of my seat in the darkest corner of The Calarden wondering when it had gone so downmarket. Last time I was at the Calarden there was a bus party, and a meat buffet. Now you were lucky to get a choice of crisps, and the only music playing was from the slot machines lined up near the Gents.
I was sitting on a newspaper because the seat had that sticky feel to it. God knows what made it sticky, but I didn’t want it on my best attire. I wanted to make Rodger realise that the Neff was still a force to be missed. I had my hair straightened in a Cleopatra bob, and wore a red top which floated around the midriff, a black leather jacket and jeans. Jeans always work in a ‘g
