Beauty products are the one thing that I waste my money on. Give me a hundred bucks and plop me in the nearest Duane Reade, and I’m happy as a pig in shit.

And besides, you'd do the tomb so well. Everybody feels as if they want a gleg at the skeleton in your vault. Penguin 2006, p. 308

The car was near the back of the train.

[…] their programme may actually have served to enhance the attractiveness and legitimacy of CIB work, a job much reviled in the heyday of The Sweeney when the 'rubber-heels' brigade of A10 were portrayed as yet another hurdle in the pursuit of villains and justice.