“Some of us have great stories…pretty stories that take place at lakes with boats and friends and noodle salad. Just not anybody in this car. But lots of people – that’s their story – good times and noodle salad…and that’s what makes it hard. Not that you had it bad but being that pissed that so many had it good.”

“Don’t be bourgeois, Jenny. You’re better than that. You drink everything I put in front of you down in one, and you slam your glass down on the bar and ask for more, it’s wonderful. We’re not clever like you, so we have to be clever in other ways, because if we weren’t, there would be no fun. We have to be clever with maps, and…Do you want to know what stats are? Stats are old ladies who are scared of coloured people. So we move the coloureds in and the old ladies move out and I buy their flats cheap. That’s what I do. So now you know. And if you don’t like it, I’ll understand, and you can go back to Twickenham and listen to the Home Service and do your Latin homework. But these weekends, and the restaurants and the concerts – they don’t grow on trees. This is who we are, Jenny.”

 

“There may well have been the odd sixth-form girl who has lost an important part of herself – perhaps the best part – while under our supervision. These things happen, regrettably. If however we are made aware of that loss, then of course the young lady in question would have to continue her studies elsewhere.”