An Invitation Regretfully Declined

On the train back to London, with The Beat singing 'Sooner Or Later' on my headphones, I eagerly awaited the arrival of the refreshments trolley. It always makes me feel a little like a grown up when the waiters ask if there is anything you would like, Sir?

Today it was a cuddly Italian man in his early-thirties named 'Johnny', as the black plastic letters on his white plastic badge proclaimed. Immediately, as our eyes met, our combined, finely-tuned Gaydar flashed across the heavens in acknowledgement, like a sluttish pinball machine.

I ordered a coffee. He asked if I wanted any milk or sugar? I said Yes, and Yes. He gave me a level look for a second and, after a significant pause, then said, "And would you like me to put it in for you?"

I smiled and said, "Yes, please, that would be lovely".

And then he said, "And will there be something gooey to follow?" He gave a cursory nod to the chocolates displayed on the trolley, but we both knew the real deal, and it almost broke my heart to regretfully pass up his sweetmeats.

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