“ I used to have picnics on Wimbledon Common and I never knew this place for anything else but strawberries and cream, tennis and Rachel Nickell’s murder! Now Wimbledon in my mind is tied with mysterious sexy intrigue, not just fruit, police honey traps and a wrongly accused killer! I shall visit the Village for coffee. Please say hi if you spot paparazzi moi with my cam.

Allergies disclaimer:

I would like to stress that this book is not exactly for the unwashed masses:

I delayed showering after the last switch. I’ve created a Pavlovian response: he must associate its floral sweetness with sexual fulfilment.

Adam has a “Pavlovian” reaction to Elena’s BO? Bribes her with cake to lessen the wrath when asking Elena to wash?
 
He frowns, seeing that I’m silent and trembling. My perfume was weak; hers much stronger. I say, my temper flaring.


Now, ladies and gentlemen, the usual hoi polloi quality potential chattel chatting up yours truly in Sarf London would probably assume that a big phat slice of Marks & Spencer’s Strawberry Pavlova will get them into the lady’s knickers. Nope, she’s allergic to stupid..
A merengue dessert will hardly cause a rash but a moron makes her skin crawl.
This is a cleverly written book.

So some of you, keen aspiring readers, please have your Oxford fictionary handy!
Just saying!

In words of our hero:

*‘Bloody pricey,’ Adam adds. ‘But God, it is a nice smell. Don’t you like it?’ [...] then squirts onto my wrist playfully.”