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For a few months, I was able to say for the first time that I had a proper girlfriend. It didn't last though. Things sort of got stale. Music was both of our priorities. Her business was picking up, and she was representing a growing number of West End performers. It wasn't what she really wanted. She wanted to crack open the commercial music industry with a big star, but she was still waiting. I wasn't going to be it despite both of our hopes and things sort of petered out. We both decided to shake hands, separate and remain friends. Most Saturday mornings we would meet up in 'Marnies' Caf?', a little deli at the start of the Portobello Road and chat about life, give off about our lack of success, laugh, cry and basically hope and dream together.I ran out of the Notting Hill Gate tube station and huffed and puffed my way up the street until I got there and collapsed into the seat opposite her, red-faced and panting. She smirked and shook her head, "20 minutes! More like 35 and you. She moved lightly on her feet and seemed almost to glide through the dorm, and she exuded a comfort in her skin that just made her easy to be around. There was a whole flock of boys that circled her, but she had maintained very little interest. She spent the first month pining for her high school boyfriend (they had broken up because of distance) and making teary-eyed late-night phone calls. She was finally over him, but wasn’t quite ready to tackle a college relationship. ‘Well, it may be technically legal, and there’s nothing in the handbook that says professors can’t have relationships with students, but I still think it’s creepy – and that’s not the creepiest thing…’ Kate broke back in. ‘From what I could tell, two of the three girls I talked to seemed to WANT to be chosen this year. They didn’t quite come out and say it, but I got the sense that they’d be thrilled to be the ones having an affair with Prof Wrackoff.’ ‘Maybe they have a daddy complex?’ I offered. We broke into.
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