It's holiday time again. Having invented the staycation – no, I don't like the word either – four years ago when we ran out of money and out of patience with French traffic, we are sticking to principle and, as we did four months ago, hanging out at Tom Hodgkinson's gaff in north Devon.

She turned, laughing at the surprise, and flushing with pleasure.

I mean, if you're not interested, it ain't nothing but a thang, baby girl. Just let a nigga know.

Instead, once you hit the fifty-mile mark, you were no longer hireworthy or sexworthy.