Virginia takes a very deep drag on her cigarette. The taxi driver clearly hadn’t had a hope in hell of finding Hugo’s country pile, so she has bailed out of his “Oubert” and now finds herself waiting at the local roadside café for Hugo to pick her up. She remembered the cafe as a quaint little place with lapsang souchong and florentines, but it must be quite a while since she left Cheyne Walk because it is now frequented by bikers and is seemingly owned by a chap called Gregg. Still, they seem to do a roaring trade in substantial canapes, so it must be good news. Even better, the air is heavy with the scent of something called salted caramel vape, so her Chesterfield chain-smoking isn’t being frowned upon either.
Despite the genial atmosphere, Virginia starts to regret wearing her full length fur BEFORE her grand entrance at Hugo’s white tie and tiara ball. A biker named Les introduces himself but, even though he is extraordinarily handsome, his weathered leathers ring alarm bells for the white ermine. Hugo arrives in his Morgan Grand Prix. “At last!” Virginia thinks, “A glass of bubbles is within reach!”. But Virginia has underestimated the meeting of mechanic minds - within minutes the bikers and Hugo have popped the hood and are sharing a tuna & sweetcorn baguette.
Virginia stubs out her cigarette. She crosses her fingers that her red turban headpiece will do the job, tucks her fur coat into her French knickers, and wraps her arms around lovely Les from the back of his motorbike. She waves Gregg’s goodbye and roars off into the sunset.
Virginia is a lesson to us all - make your own destiny (and never turn your nose up at a blind date in Greggs).
