A long lost cousin.

A thirty something woman in fish net stockings, vertigo inducing heels and black mini skirt bustles into the airport departure lounge. She sits down then quickly stands up again before moving off in search of somewhere quieter. This process repeated at least half a dozen times before a suitable spot is found. Satisfied, she looks distractedly around, adjusts the two large red pompoms in her hair and then begins to unpack the contents of a maroon wheelie bag. Each item is carefully unfolded and laid out in a line on the bench beside her. Bag finally empty she tucks her feet under her and begins to hum ; quietly at first, then with increasing confidence. 

It is at this point she notices Angus. First she smiles, then she waves, then she starts to chat contentedly away across the terminal as if we're long lost cousins. " Do you think this suits me ? " she asks in Spanish , holding up each item of clothing ( some more personal than others )  in turn, in front of her. The other passengers look away. Angus wishes he could be swallowed up by the ground . He hasn't been so intimidated since he was forced to hide in the Gents washroom at Orly airport by an outgoing Frenchwoman who insisted he share her ham and cheese baguette.

After the stress of the journey a restorative afternoon tea in Fortnums. On the way out a quick detour to the counter that sells marzipan fruit. '' They're made of marzipan " says the woman behind the counter. A somewhat nonplussed Angus wonders if anyone buys them thinking they're real. 

This will be amazing :
http://www.astronomynow.com/news/n1209/25comet/