Alarm – Radio 6. “I decided eventually. This ain’t doing a thing for me. They got him on milk and alcohol. They got him on milk and alcohol.” Dr Feelgood.

July 26, 2009

OK, so you want to know what happened with G ? Two hours later I am trying to remember how to sashay in my favourite pair of Karen Millen’s which are so teeteringly-high customers should get a free course in catwalking when you buy them. Bollocky bollocks. Why didn’t I pack a pair of flatties? I twist an ankle on the way to the Buddha bar on The Embankment, get laughed at by a man with a dog on string and arrive hobbling to meet my on/off coffee friend who has fancied me from the moment he saw me dressed as Daisy Duke from the Dukes of Hazzard.

We met at a “heroes” party, the year before I fell in love with Mr Was Right. We now keep in touch on a monthly basis by meeting up at whichever Cafe Nero we are closest to at the time where we rant on about our significant others. G always ends the conversation by asking if we can divert to some sleazy hotel in town for a drink. I always end the conversation by telling him I have never really fancied him. I would rather sleep with a smelly old retriever than play mattress hockey with him. In 10 years I haven’t managed to steer the guy off course.

I turn my head at an angle as I walk in to see G (Scorpio), propping up the bar with his cat got the cream grin. He looks kind of handsome if you tilt your head. He pinches my bum with one hand, offers me my favourite lime daiquiri with the other and then the monologue begins. Oh God, I have heard it all before: his great job, his far right political beliefs, his x-rated video collection and his love of dirty, dirty women. The hours go by in a bit of a blur before I wake up with Mr Wrong flashing that inane grin I have seen him use on girls half his age. And here it is attached to a face that is attached to a body that is sitting bolt upright in bed beside me.

Oh God. Oh shit. Oh bollocks. Where is the blessing in this situation Butterfly Maiden/Doreen Virtue and why oh why did I say yes to that seventh daiquiri? I might have upped my vitamin C levels with all the freshly squeezed lime but my head is pounding. I hold said head with one hand while blindly bashing around in the bathroom for Berocca, Diarolyte, Nurofen. Aforementioned hand leads me to the kids’ Calpol which is in a box on the shelves and neatly divided into little sucky packs. I scatter the box all over the floor before demolishing five of the blighters then jump back in to bed smiling an ‘I’m a Psycho You Had Better Get Out of Here’ smile at G, who snuggles up to my shoulder while making a weird satisfied noise that sounds somewhere between a motorbike revving and a buffalo bathing. Urggggghhhhh.

Still, it pleases me that I never got around to cleaning the sheets. Did G notice? Do I care? Surely the man was too busy showing me his Ju Jitsu to make mental notes about my lack of hygiene? Bugger, now I’m getting flashbacks. Can’t have been Rohipnol? It would have been a good excuse but I don’t think you remember any of the night before if you’ve been dosed with the forget me drug. I hug the duvet to my chin and beg the man I wish I’d never gone to bed with to make me an extra strong cup of coffee pronto (yep he’s that much of a coffee friend he knows where it is). G kindly obliges; probably hoping if he keeps me in bed he’ll get seconds.

OK Abi. Keep Calm. This is just a small blip in the larger scheme of indiscretions. Don’t erase all that hard positivity work you have been doing in your half an hour a day meditations. Faaaaarck. What AM I doing? If it wasn’t my house – and I didn’t have a swollen ankle – I would exit at sprint-speed. But rather than choosing the Linford route I wrap a kimono tightly around me and hobble sheepishly downstairs in search of G. As I step into the hall I hear the loudest fart. Pinching my nose I poke my head into the kitchen to see a tall, pale to the point of blue, skinny, hairy-backed man drinking milk out of the carton straight from MY fridge.

The chinchillas go crazy as one of the older neighbours walks by to see me staring at a different naked man than the one they have got to know and love over the five years since we moved in. Caught red-handed with my hand in the sexual cookie jar. Oh Shit – shit, shiterdy, shit. Did I really sign up for this when I ticked the divorce box?

Thank God I packed the kids off for the weekend.


6 Responses to “Alarm – Radio 6. “I decided eventually. This ain’t doing a thing for me. They got him on milk and alcohol. They got him on milk and alcohol.” Dr Feelgood.”

  1. 70ssal said

    Ha ha ha – welcome to the world of the singles. Ill advised liasions, concerns about clean sheets, and too many daiquaris. Let me know when you no longer know their sir names (or even their first names). Then you are truly one of us.

    Incidentally – was G man actually any good? Or can’t you remember?? Marks out of 10?

    • Abi Tight said

      Surnames, what’s that? It’s the star signs I log. Regarding the night – thankfully I can’t remember much past the fifth daiquiri…probably a 3/10…sorry G

  2. Extenze said

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    • Abi Tight said

      Haha – this blog will probably give you a heart attack. You may be in the wrong place but keep reading if your heart is up to it.

  3. vigrx said

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