On my way to the gym, I cycled down Manchester Road, singing Hello. I love you. Wont you tell me your name? This is a song that, my father assured seven-year-old Bethany, exactly captures the feelings of puberty. He might be right. In any case, I had just come round to the chorus again when a red light pulled me up short. I kept singing (too cheerfully) until a man in a silver Ford Fiesta rolled down his window and said, OK love, Im Martin. But you should know that Im married.
Posted on: Fri, 16 Jan 2015 08:17:17 +0000
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