On Wednesday there were minor roadworks between here and the village. In this age of litigation, there was, naturally, a young man standing with nothing to do but warn the occasional car of the ‘danger’ ahead. His pleasant greeting invited a chat, so I obliged, and took unto myself his woes.
Six months previously he’d gone to a strip joint, fell in love with the lap dancer and invited her home. She liked it and stayed, which pleased him for two days after which she refused sex. Unsure how to deal with this he hoped for a change of heart until the telephone bill arrived. She had been ringing all around the world. Then he noticed strange underpants, odd smells, stray hairs that were definitely not his in the bed. A little detective work revealed that his lap-dancer had been bringing her boyfriend home every day during normal working hours, using his house and services as their own without contributing a penny. The boyfriend was the bouncer at her strip club, so violence was not on the menu. What should he do? The poor lad was in quite a state by this time. Instead of telling him it served him right for being heterosexual, I advised him to cut his losses and settle all accounts and close them – including the rent on the flat, then pack his bags and leave quietly one night for a distant suburb.
People do make rods for their own backs. As the road works lasted only a day, I never saw him again.