I'm 'on Bro-o-adway!', where they say the girls are something else - trouble is, it's not that Broadway, but Broadway Parade, Crouch End, London - outside the Honeycomb cafe where, as it happens, they serve Drury coffee and make a damn fine cappuccino out of it - yes, another cafe update from your roving...er...notebook scribbler...
...and look, here's the Guardian film critic Peter Bradshawwalking towards me, who seems to give me more than a glance, in fact, almost stares - you know why? Because I remind him of Jean-Paul Belmondo - yes - he senses the Nouvelle Vague-ness about me, he does and he knows I'm JB in À Bout de Soufflé reincarnated. because I'm wearing a cap and sunglasses. In other words, as Michel Poiccard introduced himself, I'm an arsehole - ha-ha! Well he was really, nicking women's money and mugging a poor chap in a public toilet. I'd never do that, would I? So I'd never get a woman like Patricia (Jean Seberg), which is just as well because she'd only betray me to the cops...
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