K (breathlessly): Can we slow down a bit? You’re going fractionally too fast for me.
M: Oh, am I? Sorry. You know why, though: there’s a pub lunch waiting for me at the end of this, and the thought of it is propelling me forwards.
K (pointedly): It’s that stomach of yours again, isn’t it?
M: That’s right. But it’s all progress. Ten years ago, I was led by my dick; now I’m being led by my stomach. It’s all moving up the body, you see. Who knows: in ten years’ time, it could be my head…
K (witheringly): That’ll be nice. I’ll look forward to that.
troubled diva 