I was having a whinge, in a futile way, to Inge about the two hours twenty I spend commuting each day. I told her that I'd decided I needed to do something fruitful with that time so I planned to take up knitting, or maybe crocheting.
Inge is tall, broad-shouldered and slender, and last night was wearing a groovy leather jacket. She looked at me as though I'd just disturbed the quiet of the restaurant by yelling something distasteful.
"No, seriously," I said, "Crocheting is trendy again. All The Kids are into it. You know, scarves and stuff. I'm not going to crochet a bikini."
Inge appeared unmoved. A dark cloud of mutual distrust hovered above us.
I smiled. "I'm sure I'll write about this in my blog tomorrow."
Inge looked at me like she could take no more. "What in God's name is a blog??"
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