Mabel the barmaid had been eyeing Chongo for some time. "Cor!" she remarked to Nigel the waiter. "E's got the 'airiest arms I've ever seen. I bet 'e's an animal be'ind closed doors!"

Nigel shrugged delicately, and collected his next tray of cocktails. "They're all animals behind closed doors, love," he sighed in a worldweary fashion. "Trust me."

Mabel didn't acknowledge Nigel's comment. She was too busy staring at Chongo and breathing heavily. She checked her hair quickly in the mirror, then made for Chongo's table. In her ears she fancied she heard an accompanying musical soundtrack, matched to her every scintillating move. It was Pat Benatar singing "Love is a Battlefield".

Vlad was continuing to reminisce about his misspent youth, and the hideous wallpaper that graced the establishment was still unaccountably maintaining its customary vertical attachment to the dingy walls, despite the fact that it looked ready to crawl out of the room at any moment or grab someone by the throat.

In the distance the uncoiling filth of the Thames crawled slowly like an overfed serpent to its bed in the North Sea.