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I stood up, hoping to God she wouldn't see the telltale bulge in my trousers. She beamed up at me, bright blue eyes flashing. "Thanks Clem," she said, "And call me Sammy. Everyone else does." "Oh right – of course. Sammy it is," I said. "Ummm… cup of tea. Sammy? Hannah?" Hannah grunted, which I took to be a yes, while Sammy said pleasantly, "Yes please, Clem. Milk, no sugar, remember?" "Tea will be served shortly, young Misses," I replied, in a posh, butler-type voice. Sammy laughed. "You're more fun than my dad," she giggled. "Especially with your old 80s music. You're cool, Mr Clem – um – Clem – you know that?" Hannah raised her eyebrows. "Pul-leeeeease!" she exclaimed. "Don't think your Old Man's cool then, kiddo?" I chuckled. "I was a New Romantic, I'll have you know. Not that long ago, either!"
With that I swiftly gyrated towards the kitchen, singing the old Adam Ant lyrics; "Unplug the juke box, and do us all a favouuuurrrr. This music's got no taste, so try another flavouuuuuurr!" attempting to do the dance steps at the same time. Sammy laughed. Hannah pulled a cushion over her face. Once in the kitchen I blushed. Just what was I trying to prove and why? I was 42 for God's sake, not 22! Acting the way I did with Sammy wasn't being very grown up! I was old enough to be her father, after all.