Dominic Lorenzo: 11 books

I was told that my regular GP was away on leave somewhere in South America and I would be seen instead by a locum; a Dr Lightfoot, was that ok? Even if it wasn't I didn't see what I could do about it so I concurred. In reality I was concerned that a stranger was about to poke around my body in a perfunctorily...

I lingered over the ad thinking it might be a good idea to brush up on my knowledge of both the music and culture, picked up the phone and made an appointment via what sounded like an older ladies' voice the other end of the line. I couldn't imagine being instructed by an old duck from the Women's Institute and my enthusiasm faded somewhat as I half-heartedly agreed to tomorrow at 7.30pm.

What I witness next is the most excruciatingly beautiful thing that I will ever witness from such a beautiful woman.

I was in a positive frame of mind as I lay on my back on the wheeled maintenance trolley, nonchalantly surveying my surrounds for the hundredth time when the door at the far end of the room opened, complaining on its hinges. To my surprise, it admitted not the familiar corporation of the Minister but an unexpected site in the form of the most exquisite pair of legs I'd seen in a long while.

After a short while my periphery vision perceived a strikingly beautiful woman place a handbag on the chair diagonally across from me. Her presence surprised me somewhat, until I saw a small overnight bag tucked under the chair that I hadn't noticed before. I felt a little wave of elation!

As a Driving Instructor, I've decided there are those who have a natural instinct to learn and master the art of driving a car. And there are some amongst us who just drive us mad...but, unexpectedly, in the nicest way possible...

Following her down a hall festooned with trophies, awards and other paraphernalia, I was led to an intimate drawing room decorated with heavy furniture, and small bar; gilt framed pictures of ancestral portraits stared down on Persian rugs partially covering an uneven, flag stoned floor. A fire was burning the remnants of swamp gum logs, the sap hissing and bubbling from bark.

The train rattled and groaned again into motion. It must have been at least 2 stops later or else an indeterminate time before I risked turning over on to my other side to face her. I feigned sleep. Squinting, I saw that she was reading a large book, the title of which was indiscernible. Anyway, the book hid her face; only the hair and the top of her forehead were visible.

After a while, the barman appeared to give our quarter the floor at which the lady was about to raise her hand to draw his attention when she let out a "Oh no,..no!" What I could make out was she had caught a thumb or finger on her necklace, which had caused it to slip its pendant or whatever...

The organist sat in a small, raised cubicle just wide enough for 2 people to pass. We could only see the back of her head and shoulders. She would look a picture of beauty when framed by the rear-view mirror: dark brown eyes turned up unblinking and expectant, bottom lip being caressed by a row of perfectly white teeth.

Did I think the colour suited her? The evocative cutaway back wasn't too revealing was it? The straps were strong though and the neckline wasn't too low either? Well, yes, yes, no... was the only strangulated reply I dare let escape. I was too absorbed to trust myself with further amplification as she pressed the dress to her moulded body in imaginative poses.