I tried to work out why TPR and I were staying in this business hotel by peering at the badges of the other guests. One man appeared to be “the friendliest of the friendly”. This didn’t help, other than suggest that there was a cult in town.
When I discovered the extended family of DM in the hotel room next to ours I wondered whether there was some sort of court case or appeal in process. It appeared that DM had now left her young husband and child, and that I might be to blame. One of the aunties accused me of embarking on a relationship with her niece. This was a ridiculous suggestion. I told this woman so, highlighting the likeness of TPR to Hugh Grant.
I then popped into the bathroom to wash my hair. I suffered a severe shock when I glanced in the mirror: my golden locks had turned raven black, and my forehead had disappeared under a thick fringe. I was unrecognisable, even to myself.
“Don’t worry”, said JLW, who was standing next to me. “Your new look suits you very well.”