“Sarge!” a voice rang out across the cavernous room. “We’ve brought in Mick McColgan. D’ye wannae sit in on the interview?”

That did it! Slamming my files down on the already overcrowded desk, shouting “I’m off-duty!” at all and sundry, I half-sprinted to the changing rooms. Nearly colliding with Tasha from Vetting, I hurtled through the door and tore open my (rarely used) locker. There was a god! Singing his praises gleefully, thus earning a disapproving glare from Mrs Doyle our devout cleaner, I reached into my locker and pulled out a hanger. Not just any hanger… an M&S hanger, from which hung a white Superdry vest and my black All Saints jacket: she’d be unable to resist that combo! Peering into the darkness, my heart leapt – it got better! Neatly folded at the back of the locker were a pair of jeans, socks and pants. Had some guardian angel bestowed them upon me? Searching back in my mind, I just couldn’t think why they were in there, nor how long. Eeek!

The station may be about as luxurious as the campsite in Carry on Camping (‘ave you got a large one?) but the showers were out of this world! In record time, I threw myself into a cubicle, reached for a bottle of shampoo lying on the floor, and quickly lathered up. Hmm… the water felt divine and, though time was ticking, allowed myself the luxury of a daydream about Cat.

My skin tingled, nerves and senses sparkling back to life, as I thought about meeting her – how our date might pan out. Normally I was really nervous on dates, but that would come later – like me (I hoped). As that familiar reaction crept throughout my body, my cheeks flushed and, without thinking, my hand reached downwards: dripping and rock-hard. Fingertips gently stroking, I lost myself in the thought of Cat’s bewitching eyes, succulent smile and (okay I’m really not that shallow) effervescent, witty conversation – even at 6am on a Monday morning.

“Shit!”

Mrs Doyle tut-tutted as I was brought crashing back to Earth with an alarming thought: I hadn’t changed the sheets! What if she wanted to come back to mine? I could hardly fix her a drink, rummage in the airing cupboard and disappear off for half an hour – not exactly subtle. Bang went my chances of getting laid.

Pulling my hand away, I quickly finished washing and walked back to the lockers in a more sombre mood. Drying myself off, I was just clambering into my jeans (trying desperately to avoid over-chafing) and pulled on bra, vest and jacket over the top. My white socks (oh dear) and boots finished the combo and, a quick glance in the mirror to make sure I didn’t resemble the proverbial backwards hedge, I ran upstairs into the expectant night. Suddenly a light (almost literally, as I was dazzled by several cars’ headlights) lit up in my head, filling me with utter joy:

we could always go to hers!