how kind and generous he was and how he worked with vulnerable and disaffected children as well as having a loving family. It was such a good blurb that Michael, to his astonishment, never felt the urge to contact any women himself as they got in touch with him. "Mate, this is brilliant! I've had eight beautiful women message me. How many have you had?"
"None, ya bastard," replied Michael's down-in-the-dumps friend.
Michael, in the school kitchen, pondered Rebecca's question. "I'd like to say it was Duran Duran's 'A View to a Kill' and we had just watched it at the cinema, but I didn't know you then and as you were born in the year it was released, it'd be a bit weird for a ten-year-old me taking a newborn-baby you to a Bond film on a date," Michael said, curling his lip as he wiped his hand on a tea towel, freeing himself from a cup that dripped the remnants of tea or coffee or hot chocolate on his fingers.
"Yes, that would be a little weird. I don't even think I've seen a James Bond film at the cinema. I've only ever seen one in my entire life, but anyway, listen, was there a particular song playing when we first met, or when we did anything, or even when we've been away?" Rebecca dodged the thousands of people milling about in Carnaby Street.
Michael scrunched his face up, thinking, as he crouched down to a cupboard and retrieved a dishwasher tablet from a box. With one hand and his teeth, he tore the tiny wrapper off the tablet, spitting out a piece that had come off in his mouth.
"Ugh. Pptthh," he sounded out.
"What are you doing? Are you eating?" Rebecca asked him, as she crossed into the darker, narrower, less busy Beak Street.
"No, I'm just filling up the dishwasher. I had to open one of the tablets with my teeth."
"Why don't you use your hands?"
"Because I can only use one hand. I have the phone in one hand."
"Did you put the dishwasher tablet in your mouth?"
"Not intentionally, well... I guess... but not to deliberately feast upon it. Anyway, a song. I suppose it wasn't exactly playing, but do you remember when you first telephoned me before our first date?" Michael asked.
"You were at the school and it was lunch time."
"Yeah, well, in the background was a noise and you asked me what it was."
"It was Paul from your work singing or doing some guitar noise or something. I remember that because it nearly put me off from meeting up with you," Rebecca commented, as she entered Upper James Street and went into Soho's Golden Square.
"You nearly didn't go out with me because somebody at my work was singing in the background?" Michael was a little concerned.
"Well, not - I don't know. Maybe. You also called me 'buddy' and 'mate', which was another negative point, and more so when you said them together.
"I called you 'buddy mate'?"
"Yes, don't you remember?" Rebecca asked.
"I may have blanked it from my memory."
"I wish I could blank it from mine. So what was Paul singing in the background?"
"He was singing 'Born to be Wild' by Steppenwolf," Michael said, quite proudly.
Rebecca stopped on the street outside the Absolute Radio building. She frowned. "Is that one of those rock anthems?"
"It's definitely an anthem of some sort. It's like when Huey helicopters swooped over the paddy fields during the Vietnam War. Speakers were fitted inside them and blasted out the song. The guitar kicked in; Dahh dum dahh dum der dum dum, dahh dum dahh dum der dum dum." Michael was excited, as he tried to mimic the classic 'Born to be Wild' guitar rift.
"I don't really understand, and your guitar voice doesn't work too well over the phone. Maybe you could form a band with that bloke from Britain's Got Talent," Rebecca said.
"What, the one who did a saxophone voice, but really just sounded like an annoying, squealing cartoon baby?"
"That's the one," said Rebecca.
"Hmm, could be good. Think I'll look him up. So yeah, that's what you heard in the background when you first spoke to me."
"So, what you're saying is
"None, ya bastard," replied Michael's down-in-the-dumps friend.
Michael, in the school kitchen, pondered Rebecca's question. "I'd like to say it was Duran Duran's 'A View to a Kill' and we had just watched it at the cinema, but I didn't know you then and as you were born in the year it was released, it'd be a bit weird for a ten-year-old me taking a newborn-baby you to a Bond film on a date," Michael said, curling his lip as he wiped his hand on a tea towel, freeing himself from a cup that dripped the remnants of tea or coffee or hot chocolate on his fingers.
"Yes, that would be a little weird. I don't even think I've seen a James Bond film at the cinema. I've only ever seen one in my entire life, but anyway, listen, was there a particular song playing when we first met, or when we did anything, or even when we've been away?" Rebecca dodged the thousands of people milling about in Carnaby Street.
Michael scrunched his face up, thinking, as he crouched down to a cupboard and retrieved a dishwasher tablet from a box. With one hand and his teeth, he tore the tiny wrapper off the tablet, spitting out a piece that had come off in his mouth.
"Ugh. Pptthh," he sounded out.
"What are you doing? Are you eating?" Rebecca asked him, as she crossed into the darker, narrower, less busy Beak Street.
"No, I'm just filling up the dishwasher. I had to open one of the tablets with my teeth."
"Why don't you use your hands?"
"Because I can only use one hand. I have the phone in one hand."
"Did you put the dishwasher tablet in your mouth?"
"Not intentionally, well... I guess... but not to deliberately feast upon it. Anyway, a song. I suppose it wasn't exactly playing, but do you remember when you first telephoned me before our first date?" Michael asked.
"You were at the school and it was lunch time."
"Yeah, well, in the background was a noise and you asked me what it was."
"It was Paul from your work singing or doing some guitar noise or something. I remember that because it nearly put me off from meeting up with you," Rebecca commented, as she entered Upper James Street and went into Soho's Golden Square.
"You nearly didn't go out with me because somebody at my work was singing in the background?" Michael was a little concerned.
"Well, not - I don't know. Maybe. You also called me 'buddy' and 'mate', which was another negative point, and more so when you said them together.
"I called you 'buddy mate'?"
"Yes, don't you remember?" Rebecca asked.
"I may have blanked it from my memory."
"I wish I could blank it from mine. So what was Paul singing in the background?"
"He was singing 'Born to be Wild' by Steppenwolf," Michael said, quite proudly.
Rebecca stopped on the street outside the Absolute Radio building. She frowned. "Is that one of those rock anthems?"
"It's definitely an anthem of some sort. It's like when Huey helicopters swooped over the paddy fields during the Vietnam War. Speakers were fitted inside them and blasted out the song. The guitar kicked in; Dahh dum dahh dum der dum dum, dahh dum dahh dum der dum dum." Michael was excited, as he tried to mimic the classic 'Born to be Wild' guitar rift.
"I don't really understand, and your guitar voice doesn't work too well over the phone. Maybe you could form a band with that bloke from Britain's Got Talent," Rebecca said.
"What, the one who did a saxophone voice, but really just sounded like an annoying, squealing cartoon baby?"
"That's the one," said Rebecca.
"Hmm, could be good. Think I'll look him up. So yeah, that's what you heard in the background when you first spoke to me."
"So, what you're saying is
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