Gentlemen, a word of advice…

… Never keep your condoms in your breast pocket. Why? I'll tell you. After a few jolly days on the beach and splendid evenings in fine and quirky hostelries, I took the train back from Brighton to London. There are engineering works on the line and a replacement bus service to Three Bridges. My flowery bag and guitar and I are in close proximity and in facing seats with a very pretty, and gawky/lanky 18 year old girl and her mother. The seating arrangement lends itself to conversation. The girl and I keep touching bare knees - she is in a beautiful flower print cotton summer dress, and I in shorts. It means nothing, but feels very intimate, something that means nothing with friends, but slightly offends the British reserve with strangers. We are talking together. The girl sneezes in a fit of hayfever. Being a gentleman, I offer her my handkerchief with a flourish. However, there are condoms in my breast pocket too and these fly out and land in her lap. Not one, not two, not three, but four of them. The condoms are in purple wrappers that look like blackcurrant sweets. I see her flash of realisation and a quick sideways glance at her mum. Her mum is looking out of the window. The girl discreetly covers the condoms with her hand, blows her nose and cleverly hands the handkerchief and the condoms back to me together without her mum seeing. Every time we make eye contact we are in fits of giggles all the way to Three Bridges. Much to the annoyance of her mother.