the compass always points.

Back up north I go. I've had enough of the London sun.

The cool blanket of haar awaits, obscuring what comes next, showing only shadows and silhouettes.

parfum

Me: 'You spent how much on shower gel?'

Mate: '£16'

Me: '£16? How much did that get you? A gallon? A tanker?'

Mate: 'A bottle.'

Me: 'That's ridiculous. I think my shower gel's about £3, buy one-get-one free in Boots. Not the generic stuff, but the funky stuff that has all the fruit and shit in it.'

Mate: 'You don't understand, this stuff's amazing.'

Me: 'It's shower gel. Does it get you cleaner or something?'

Mate: 'No - it's the smell.'

Me: 'Oh, please. You're spending £16 on shower gel because of the smell? You're a fucking moron.'

Mate: 'Normally I'd agree with you, but this stuff... women love the smell. You use this and random women sniff at you and smile.'

Me: 'It's London in the summer. No one sniffs anyone and smiles.'

Mate: 'I'm serious.'

Me: 'Really? Random women smell you?'

Mate: 'Well, they did. Now I've got a girlfriend she smells me and keeps the others away.'

Me: 'For £16?'

Mate: 'That's right.'

Me: 'If I spent £16 on shower gel would your girlfriend smell me and keep others away?'

Mate: 'Fuck off.'

We chatted about life and drank beer.