One day in I went to work as usual at the Independent on Sunday The DPP wants me to interview him. Bubl has been pining for you all these years. I met Alan Green β my Alan Green, not the Director of Public Prosecutions β in when I was sixteen and he was he said twenty-seven, but probably in his late thirties.
I liked the smell of his cigar and the leather seats. I told him I had never seen a car like this before, and he said it was a Bristol, and very few were made.
He told me lots of facts about Bristols as we cruised β Bristols always cruised β towards Twickenham. He had a funny accentβlater, when I knew him better, I realized it was the accent he used for poshβbut I asked if he was foreign. I never would have guessed. I wondered what he thought my age was: I hoped he thought nineteen.
My life might have turned out differently if I had just said No. But I was not quite rude enough. Instead, I said I was very busy rehearsing a play which meant that unfortunately I had no free evenings. Arriving for the first night a couple of weeks later, I found an enormous bouquet in the dressing room addressed to me. On the other hand, I had always fantasized about having an older man, someone even more sophisticated than me, to impress the little squirts of Hampton Grammar.
So I agreed to go out with him on Friday week, though I warned that he would have to undergo a grilling from my father. He wanted to know what marks they got at O level, what A levels they were taking, what universities they were applying to.
