“Are you sure you’re okay?” asked Laurie as we strolled through the sunshine. “Do you know what year it is? Can you remember who the Prime Minister is? That kind of thing?”
“I can dae better than that,” I replied and proceeded to recite the lyrics of Michel Legrand’s Windmills of Your Mind. Every word. Word fucking perfect.
Aye, wee blondes in hotpants – my femmes fatales.
Anyway, RIP Michel.