I almost knocked Charles Kennedy over yesterday. No, he wasn't drunk, and no, it wasn't my fault. He always seemed to me the kind of man who wills his own destruction. He was walking outside parliament on the road side of the terrorist barriers, striding along, heading no doubt for a hearty and important lunch. I came straight at him, since I was riding on the left of the traffic. Luckily I recognised his red hair and more-florid-by-the-day face...I swerved and braked to avoid him.
The look on his face at this moment secured my everlasting love. He was thoroughly irritated by the whole scenario, and my manoeuvre appeared to leave him particularly nonplussed.
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