“So, did you spend the night with the blond rich wanker or the dark haired posh twat?”

“I wasn't being a git. I wasn't even being a twat, or a wanker, or any of your other bleeding Briticisms -”

“She was around fifty, with dark blond hair that had been twisted, teased, and probably threatened into a complicated updo.”

“You go to a party or whatever, and you spend the whole night zeroing in on the woman in red, the blonde in the corner, the girl with the big laugh, and then, as you are leaving, you see someone out of the corner of your eye, her hair glinting in the light, her long neck tilted slightly as she listens intently to the person next to her. And you know she's the one you should of talked to.”

“Twat is twat and that is that.”

“You need to look hot now that you've got three guys giving you the eye.""Three?""Sweet blue-eyed blond trapper... Muscled blond trapper number two, who buys you cards... And that gorgeous, 'Where have you been all my life' dude with the raven-black hair and dark eyes.”