So I meet this cute girl called Lola.
Like the song, I say.
That's right. She smiles at me. And I'm a bit of a showgirl too.
I run through the lyrics in my head - the champagne that tastes like cherry cola, dancing in the club in old Soho, the squeeze so tight it nearly broke the spine.
Are we thinking of the same song, I say. You know, Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola.
Her smile fades.
She says to me, The song about the transvestite you mean?
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