Us

by David Nicholls

What’s French for “remove the accordionist from room 603”?’

Today it’s Paris, tomorrow Prague, Palermo, Amsterdam – who knows!’ ‘Yes, we’re the same,’ I said. ‘Except we have a laminated itinerary,’

it wasn’t enough to stare at this anonymous woman’s private parts, clearly he was going to have to sketch them, too. ‘Meet you in the gift shop,’ I said,

Only by confronting the worst traumas of life could you comprehend them and face them down,

I still felt strongly that my life had been altered in some indefinable way.

we gradually became less adventurous after we married, after we left London, after we became parents.

the music has become a kind of audio-Valium, background music rather than something I listen to actively and attentively.

each note remains the same, I used to hear them differently. It used to sound better.

our arguments seemed to have a longer half-life these days. Like colds and hangovers, they took an age to shake off

A perfectly co-ordinated schedule of sightseeing was unravelling before my eyes.

‘Isn’t it incredible? Who needs meat!’ said Cat who, the last time I saw her, had been stuffing her rucksack with bacon like some crazed taxidermist.

If we’re going to get to the Anne Frank House we need to go now.’ ‘Douglas, can we leave it be? Even the Gestapo didn’t want to get there this much.’

what was this idiotic obsession with chilling out? I wasn’t aware of having been relaxed at any time in my entire life;

Amsterdam. For a start, there were far too many bicycles. The whole thing had got completely out of hand,

the lady who, I surmised from the body-stocking, was either a prostitute or very outgoing.

I would expire like a rock star, on the floor of an Amsterdam sex hotel after three beers and two puffs of a very mild joint.

I loved the evidence of her past presence, and the promise of her return,

nothing brings people together like the subject of immigration.

But then perhaps that was their secret. Perhaps they were a perfect match, like a pair of drumsticks.

I’d love to know for certain if I could be happy with you.

sometimes felt that Connie had spent the first three years laughing at my jokes and the next twenty-one sighing at them.

There’s a saying, cited in popular song, that if you love someone you must set them free. Well, that’s just nonsense. If you love someone, you bind them to you with heavy metal chains.

Jackson Pollock.