that; a dance for fat women. Apparently, they

u had to dri

I saw it in

The Record like the bible wasn't worth arguing with. Instead, she tu

smirking

ent he was transported back to those days when he looked pretty good in a uniform. '

er coin into the cent

*

ng about Martin and his pulling power. She twirled h

eryl, this ain't no

e of fifty-five, which no amount of black eyeliner and good dentures could disguise. She cal

year-old Greek called Ardennes, and Nefertiti (who was simply kno

community centre, to the badminton court. He had a fondness for Lycra, worn tight, with a black se

job in the A

' Ardennes would whisper into a student's ear, while pla

es and got her belly button pierced. And when that didn't work, she informed Shifty, the barman in The Argyll, about Ardennes a

the ne

uspended from a slightly dodgy four-poster bedpost, wearing nothing but a union jack g-string

lass mulled over the gory detail of Ardennes's sex life, some w

irl who put sex into Scottish dancing. She knew, because Mr. Rugby

alked in on Sheryl's version of Scottish country dancing, and spread it about Lochgilphead that Sheryl was not only doing a line with a married man

dancing move, but as my Rodger would s

n expert on all things Middle Eastern. She claimed belly dancing worked 'Mir

ou'll be able to laugh and stay dry, '

lected 'Flower of Scotland', and

Plying her with whisky had been an expensive mistake. He had spent the best part of an evening watching his small pile

elf, she was so d

en what it was like to wake up with a smile on her face and someone warm close by. She stood by the gate of her house, and looked up at her mother's bedroom window. Beatr

om window, she looked at the lock and jiggled it a bit. 'All t

ong with that? Joh