I once went out with a sweet lady 12 years my senior whilst working in the microfilm department of Bejam’s in ‘85. All I can remember is that she had huge tits, a gammy arm from a council house fire, and she treated me to a week in Corfu.
Of course you care, you creepy little excitable ponce. Your first appearance on the leaderboard after more than six years, and you're knocking out shit like there’s no tomorrow.
I did wonder what brand of watch would sit well next to a pair of frayed and stonewashed three-quarter-length jeans. A vulgar oversized Breitling of course. For 20k you could’ve bought an elegant pre-owned PP.