Thursday, 17 September 2015

Gillian Anderson May Be Old, But I'm Not Here To Form A Gerontocracy

She was standing by the pool table, surreptitiously marking out the stretch of my talent against the pool cue with her hands. I smiled and nodded at her knowingly when she'd just about summed me up. She lent the pool cue against the table and moved the gap between her hands against her lower torso, winking at me with a cheeky twinkle in her eye. I gripped my plastic cup of dull yellow euro lager, held my ring-clad pinky at right angles to its edges, shook my head once in bemusement and then tipped the final swig into my mouth.

"Well," I said, with a sharp intake of breath, "let's go and see."

She smirked and said her son was twenty-three.

I laughed, then told her to meet me out the front once I'd had a pee.