Jess Whitecroft

“Between the two of us we’ve made the inside of my car smell like the inside of a gay bathhouse in seventies San Francisco, minus the poppers.”
― Jess Whitecroft, Burn Me

“Okay. How much do you need?”
“Couple of hundred. Three…”
“Three hundred?”
“You’re a fucking surgeon, Simon.”
“Junior orthopaedic surgeon,” he said. “It’s going to be a while before I’m pulling down consultant level cash. And even then I’d make more money if I’d become a footballer.”
“You wouldn’t,” I said. “I’ve seen you play football. You were always running away from the ball.”
“That’s because it was a heavy, leather projectile travelling rapidly towards my face.”
“Yes, but you were the goalkeeper.”
― Jess Whitecroft, Less Than Three