Dear Mark,
I just had lunch in a restaurant in Dunkirk on my way to the Channel Tunnel. It was run by your French double.
He chatted up a pair of 40 plus dyed blondes until they giggled and wiggled. He deftly crouched down to table level and whispered outrageous things in their ears. He then ‘shimmied’ across the restaurant and even mimed playing guitar to a James Brown record!
His staff were oppressed and under-dressed. (If a little overfed.)
He had a two-faced smile and regularly went out for cigarettes.
The steak and chips weren’t any more exciting.
Hope you’re well,
Love,
John.
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