RELUCTANT PRESS

'throw away', and I was mildly surprised, and delighted, that she accepted with some alacrity.

She could have been a bit lonely, although I had zilch to offer by way of high powered conversation on the Isles of Langerhans, kidney stones or even enlarged pores!

My own skin, dear reader, is greasy, fairly coarse and with pores like craters on the moon around the nose. But I did not intend to discuss them. Luckily, I am old enough to know that you don't discuss 'O' level maths (or 'A' for that matter) with professional actuaries, or try to expound ridiculous sci-fi theories about entropy and enthalpy with professional civil engineers.

The fact that she duly arrived in a cocktail frock, stockinged, made up (she never entered the lift that way) and with 3" heeled court shoes, I found flattering. All I had to offer was the usual range of spirits, crinkly chips, pecan nuts and roll-mops at four quid a jar and enlarged pores!

"Ah, Dr. K," I said brightly, "come in, come in!"

"For God's sake, call me Paula," was her opening remark. "I'm Dr. K.'ed up hill and down dale all day in the lab. Even, my mother, once, introduced me as Dr. K, and in my presence, at one of her hatted-and-gloved ladies' tea parties; I could have killed her. But she, poor dear, quit school in Form 4 and has an unholy respect for any academic 'adventuring' beyond 'C' level! You're Doug, aren't you?"

I had already had two large scotches before she arrived and was equal to the exchange.

"I think I'd have enjoyed your mother. I left school in the 3rd form." It wasn't meant to be a put dow but it may have sounded like one.

"Yes, I know," returned Paula coolly. "You teach senior English, so if we can go by the spelling of some of my GCE assistants, that figures! I have a dossier on you, you know," she added archly.

If I was flattered before, I was flattened now.

"Do you now?" I replied weakly.

JOYCE'S GIRLS BY JOYCE

"Well, it's not a dossier in the conventional sense. I just type your name into my computer and press ENTER and a fascinating life-story swims before my eyes."

I wasn't too sure how seriously to take her.

She could see I was a bit non-plussed, if not to say, ruffled; my poise has a high centre of gravity and is easily toppled.

Laughing, she continued: "Oh yes, I should also mention, that Gladys, the maid who 'does' for me three times a week, also 'does' for you on the other two days. All I do is ply the good Gladys with questions."

I made a mental note of the fact that she was interested enough to do just that.

The good doctor continued to eye me with good humoured amusement and I found myself wondering how much she did, in fact, know about me.

Although I keep my female gear locked up, total security 100% of the time, is, in two words, 'im possible'.

Gladys did say to me, once, several months back, "Where the madam?"

"Gone away," I replied tersely and in a voice that invited no further discussion.

If Gladys had seen things in the 'Blue Room' which I had rather she hadn't, at least she didn't help herself to my liquor and disguise the short-fall with added water as my previous maid had done. So Gladys stayed and we both continued our modus vivendi of silence on the matter of the female duds.

I think I would like to have said to her, "And so, Gladys, what do you make of all this? You'll find the word, 'transvestism' mentioned in most works on anthropology, so what is your experience of the phenomenon?"

She would have stared at me uncomprehendingly, of course, so I wisely desisted

But back to the scene in my living room.

Page 16

Page 17