Back To The Future

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CC Image courtesy of 96dpi on FlickrI’m sitting on the train, bound for a New Year’s Eve party, and for some reason I’m reading old texts from VP. I say ‘for some reason’; it’s probably because I know that tonight VP is just 11 miles away. On finding this out I did something I’ve never done before: alone, at home, I cracked open a bottle of Martini and had a drink.

So I’m reading old texts from VP, from the top. I’ve got as far as the one where I’m telling him about an evening I spent with Perky who incidentally I’m en route to meet before going together to the aforementioned party. Perky’s been a saint recently, fielding endless messages from yours truly containing scintillating bulletins such as:

Tinder tells me VP is in London.

It’s a wonder she hasn’t blocked my number.

So I’m sitting there, reading, when something happens. Something I’ve been hoping for ever since a certain conversation took place in early October but which I didn’t really believe would ever happen.

VP’s messages, six months old, are before my eyes, when up pops… a new message. And suddenly we’re back there: back to holding my phone like it’s a piece of fine bone china, so that I don’t accidentally hit the message bubble, open the window, allow the message to show as ‘read’ before the ink is dry on the page. Back to staring at my phone with the most ridiculous grin on my face, wondering what it means, what to do next.

‘It makes me angry,’ Perky says, when I tell her. ‘He still hasn’t done anything.’

Tell me about it.

And when Karl comes on to me around 2am at the party, I cut my losses and tell him too. He knows about VP, whereas my neighbour – the main reason I don’t feel entirely comfortable making out with Karl in the hallway, or anywhere for that matter – is as yet undisclosed information.

‘You’re the ball of wool,’ Karl says.

‘Huh?’

Even without the four glasses of prosecco coursing through my veins, I don’t think I’d catch his drift.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re the ball of wool, and he’s the kitten in this scenario.’

I know he’s right.

‘How do I not be the ball of wool?’

‘You have to not care.’

‘Hmm.’

Like that’s gonna happen.

CC Image courtesy of Alicakes* on Flickr

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Post Mortem

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I wake to a reply.

Party was certainly large.  CC Image courtesy of djwaldow on Flickr

It’s my brother, so this could mean anything.

What did u do on NYE in the end? 

That is classified information.

U should organise a non drinkers NYE party next year! 

Ooh yes.  And for the venue, what, a crematorium?

Are you still at home?

If it’s big or heavy, no.

CC Image courtesy of sun dazed on Flickr



Christmas v Present

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‘I was thinking about your dilemma whilst you were at lunch…’

Join the club.

‘…and I’ve come up with a solution!’

‘Oh?’

‘There’s just one drawback…it involves waiting ’til Christmas – or New Year’s.’

I laugh.  I’m an Aries.  We don’t really do waiting.

‘So what is the solution?’

‘Well, you find some mistletoe and kiss him under it.  And if he’s not interested, you just make out it was a Christmas kiss under the mistletoe and doesn’t mean anything; and if he is, well…’

‘Riiight.’

Or I wait ’til tomorrow night, find some alcohol and kiss him under the influence.  Sorted.