Fat Club

Is it too much to ask to walk around a garden centre without being stalked by Pudsey fucking Bear? I eventually lost him by doubling around the heated propagators and ducking into the café for a pot of tea. The Cafe was empty apart from four large teenage girls celebrating a fourteenth birthday with an ocean of triple-mallow-hot-chocolates and a tray of cakes.
After I had finished my tea and decided against pocketing the newly posted ‘strictly no smoking’ ornament, I rolled myself a roll-up and made my way outside to have a smoke.
As I walked past the teenagers, the birthday girl said to me, "aren’t you going to say Happy Birthday?" I wanted to say . . . You would have a far happier birthday if you lost about three stone. Trust me. If you don’t, you will only ever have fat friends. When you are older, you will never get a boyfriend and even if you do get lucky on a Friday night, you will find out that he only shagged you for a bet. The thermometer will only have to go above fifty-eight degrees and your top lip will start to sweat. Your metabolic rate will go into freefall, taking your hormones down with it. Then one morning you will wake up with facial hair. And just when you don’t think it can get any worse . . . you will develop diabetes and your toes will fall off!

Short skirts and hosiery

I found myself in Banbury High Street, giving out flyers for one of my swindles to the good people of that market town, when I saw a face. Or rather, I saw a pair of long slender legs encased in patterned hosiery atop a set of three inch heels. Her short dog-tooth woolen skirt was revealed by the split in her coat as she bent down to tend to her young son. As she walked towards me, I knew that I had to savour each moment of perfection. I mean . . . what the fuck was she doing in Banbury with her child and her mother? A footballer’s wife? In Banbury? Anyway, what I hoped was going to be a short period of agony in beauty as she passed me by was lengthened. She took her boy into the barbers for a trim; the very barbers that I had been standing outside freezing my nuts off for the last two hours. I was desperate for a smoke, but now, behind the glass, she had taken her coat off and was sitting in profile watching Banbury High Street pass her by. Oh for the love of God, how long does it take to cut a boys hair? Please take this woman out of my life. With every maternal smile and kiss on her son's lips so did her skirt rise. I really needed a cigarette. I can smoke forty times a day but this is a one off. I would wait until they left the barbers, then I would give her a flyer and watch her leave my life as suddenly as she had entered it. She did leave. She left in a Hollywood romantic comedy way, an exit that was all smiles and with no tension. And I did give her a flyer. My tongue seemed to have swollen three times it’s normal size. I couldn’t speak. She smiled. And the three of them walked towards the hotdog van and disappeared. I caught a sight of my reflection in the lingerie shop window and thought . . . you silly, silly, ridiculous old man!

Persian tantric sex

Oh let me tell you gentlemen. One day without a drink and your beer tastes like the adverts says it does. One day without a drink and the drink really does do what you want your drink to do. And after one day without a drink, I went, as usual, after the-worst-pub, to Tesco-metro for the well being of my wine and something to eat for my tea. The beautiful Persian girl with the bad skin served me. “How are you?” I asked. “I am good thank you,” she replied. “Good.” I replied to her reply. “Do you live nearby?” She asked in her broken English and an unusual directness. I told her that I did. She then told me that she did as well and told me the road she lived in and house number within that road. I suddenly realised that my shopping basket was a sad fucks shopping basket with only red wine and a seventy second microwave rustler burger. I apologised for my crassness. “Not very healthy eh?” And her imperfect skin cracked into a perfect smile as she said, “I love to cook. See you soon I hope?”

Potters Funeral

The funeral caught me by surprise. It was so desperately sad to see people I know and love grieving. His son, barely old enough to vote, carrying his daddies wasted bones in a box on his young shoulders.
As we shuffled out amongst the mourners, edging between the pews of this ancient church, I made a mental note that perhaps my one and only suit isn't entirely appropriate for funerals...summer-green really isn't the colour of mourning.
After the hearse had creaked down the hill we popped into the Bell Inn and sat surrounded by good friends from a bygone age sipping lemonde and I wished that I hadn't left my Golden Virginia in the car.