[Mr Driver reminded me of the Canadian Hell’s Angel I once met in the back row of a BA flight from Heathrow to Vancouver. The hostesses made us drink all the whisky on the plane, and he ended up having some kind of reclining-seat-based scuffle with the guy in front. As we approached immigration, he…
Mr Driver emerges from his lair and, after a brief conversation re our respective employment, says, “There’s half an hour to go before we leave, so why don’t I show you round town?” A rather attractive blonde is left standing, but 50 yards later Mr Driver’s antennae tell him that a slightly less attractive blonde/brunette…
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