Chapter 5 - Gay Dave, Saturday

5.14
5.15
5.16

I wish I’d not stayed over. Much as I hate to be a shag-and-leave type of guy there’s nothing worse than being trapped in someone else’s bed, unable to sleep. It’s no surprise, my sleep is fragile at the best of times, and it only takes the tiniest of things to upset it. I don’t remember the last time I slept in someone else’s bed. That’s not to say there haven’t been people in mine, but even then I’ve been awake before the sun, and certainly before my bed mate. I don’t know him well enough to know whether he’ll be awake bright and early, or if he’s the kind of person that can sleep in all day. I could be here for hours, clinging to the side of the bed counting the minutes on the clock. I can’t start fidgeting for at least another two hours - nobody gets up before 7am on a Saturday - and leaving now isn’t an option: by the time I’ve stumbled round looking for my clothes I’ll have woken him up, and probably both sets of neighbours as well. I knew I should have left, but three-thirty in the morning isn’t the time to start contemplating a cab home, especially when you’re pretty drunk.

5.41
5.42
5.43

There I was thinking I didn’t fancy him. Funny how evenings can take unexpected turns. I was all set to give the barman my number when Steve beat me to it and asked me back. By then I’d gotten to like his smile and was intrigued to find out just how hairy that chest was, so I said yes. I wish we’d just jumped in a cab though - there’s only so much anticipation you can stand , if you wait too long people are sure to change their mind. And a night bus is certain to cool anyone’s ardour. He said it wasn’t far, but what I think he meant was that he’d spent all his money on dinner and couldn’t afford a cab. I was happy to pay, and said so, although obviously not forcefully enough as I found myself hanging round a bus stop, not dressed for it, and in no mood for the drunken teenagers who were teasing each other and bickering over their remaining cigarettes. The boys I can handle - their scowl might be worse than the girls, but I’m a big bloke and although I’ve never been in a fight I’d like to think that if I had to I could use my size to scare someone away. Or maybe not. But girls are different - they know they could never take you in a fight, so they mess with your head - find your weakness and pick at it until you can’t stand it any more. I was maybe being drunkenly paranoid, but two gay men on a bus seemed to be asking for trouble.
I was wrong - no one gave a shit about us. They were too busy texting people and laughing about the replies to even notice we were there, and got off several stops before us anyway. Seven or eight stops later we got off to, and even in my drunken state I realised it was pretty dumb to not know where you were, especially in the company of someone you hardly knew. There was an outside chance I could end the night in bits in a nearby river, or locked in a cupboard under the stairs until someone missed me. But those kind of thoughts are easily dismissed when you’re drunk and horny.
The walk from the bus to his house ensured that I was completely lost - it was one of those areas of completely identical houses, with seemingly identical cars and no way of telling them apart. Do they call this kind of thing suburbia still? Turns out he lived in a nice little terrace house - lots of original floor boards, which would no doubt give me away if I tried to creep out of bed. Nicely decorated, and not full of all the crap I seem to have accumulated. Not exactly minimal, more obsessively tidy. I was worried he’d ask me to fold my clothes when I’d taken them off, but in the end I left them scattered up the stairs and he was too busy getting out of his own to worry about where I was putting them.

6.03
6.04
6.05

I wonder where the bathroom is? I could do with a pee, and it might just wake him up if I stumble round the house enough. I’m trying to remember the layout, but it’s all a bit of a drunken blur. I expect it’ll be upstairs, but I’d hate to wander in and disturb a sleeping lodger. He never said he had a lodger, but you never know. He never said he had both nipples pierced, which just goes to show you never can tell. Perhaps a sly tweak of one of them would wake him up? It’d probably start something I don’t want to get into though - I just want a shower and a shave, coffee and toast, then a long nap in my own bed.
At least I can remember his name. There’s nothing worse than getting all camp and calling some one “love” or “gorgeous” to cover up the fact you’ve completely forgotten their name. I wonder if I’ll see him again. Maybe he won’t want to. Maybe I won’t want to. Nah, it was fun, I’d do it again. And I’m not exactly overwhelmed by better offers at the minute anyway.

6.24
6.25
6.26

Well, I found the bathroom. It wasn’t exactly tricky - there are only two other doors upstairs, and as the one to the bathroom was already open it was a bit of a giveaway. I did just peek into the other room, just to check for lodgers, but it looks like a study. There’s certainly a computer in there and loads of paperwork, and the usual spare room kind of crap.
I managed to wake him up when I got back into bed, although he didn’t open his eyes, just mumbled to himself and pulled me into a cuddle. So now I’m not only awake but I’m trapped. And I can’t see the clock as my head is pulled into his chest. Turns out that hair went all the way down, lots of it too. It smells warm, and makes me feel surprisingly comfortable. Perhaps I could fall asleep after all?

Or not. Now I’m not only awake, but I’m hot and my arm has gone dead. And that chest hair is tickling my nose. I’ve tried fidgeting but he’s dead to the world. I wonder what time it is? It looks lighter out, well, the tiny bit of the room I can see over his shoulder looks lighter. Well, lighter than when I’m blinded by his chest. Perhaps I should bite him. That’d wake him up. In a proper bitey kind of way. Not foreplay, but a proper bite. Draw blood. Oh God I’m trapped in a strangers bed and I’m going mad.

OK, I turned myself over, but I couldn’t get away. His arm followed me across the bed, which makes me think he’s more awake than he seems. Now he’s nestled in behind me, his breath warming the back of my neck. It’s not altogether unpleasant. I could even get to like it. And there’s something restful about the rhythm of his breathing. Maybe I could get used to this after all…..

Chapter 4 - Gay Dave, Friday

I'm on a date from hell. Well, not hell exactly, but it's not going that well. I'd had such high hopes! We met online. Obviously. Do people really meet in the old-fashioned ways anymore? I mean, why would you? Anyway, we 'chatted' a lot over a period of a week or so, then he suggest we meet up. We'd been getting along well enough, and frankly I was going through a bit of a bored period, so I said 'why not?' I didn't really fancy him, but that wasn't a problem - you can't photograph someone's personality, so looks can often be deceiving. Or not. I guess he's a bit nervous, but he's lost all his spark. He looks nice enough, nice shirt although it's buttoned up too much so only a hint of chest hair peeks out of it, but he's breaking that cardinal dating rule about not mentioning your exes! I thought we all knew not to mention them on the first date? Or the second. Or ever, if you've got any sense! But I feel I know his so well I might as well have been on a date with his ex. And yet I still can't work out why they split up. I'm not going to encourage him by actually asking, but I'm intrigued to find out who dumped who. I'm guessing he was dumped, which would explain the endless picking over it. Apparently it's been nearly 8 months, but the way he's behaving you'd think it happened on the way here!
That aside we seem to get on pretty well, online at least. We've got similar interests, similar jobs, similar senses of humour. I just wish I fancied him a bit more. Or at all. I can't put my finger on what I don't like about him. Perhaps I'm just being ridiculous, who knows how I'll feel once we get to the bottom of this bottle of wine.
The food's good too - his choice, expensive Thai so we're definitely sharing the bill. I like to pay for my own food, then I don't feel obliged to sleep with them if I don't want to. Although usually it makes no difference, I pretty much always do. I remember when I'd hardly kiss on a first date, how quaint that seems now. I guess that's why things don't last - the mystery has gone, there's no anticipation, no reason to come back for more. I feel like I might be single forever, but would it really be that bad? So, no sleeping with this one. No going back to his place. Or mine. Perhaps a drink somewhere else after here, but that's definitely it. No snogging in bus shelters. Or doorways. No no no.

I guess as dates go it’s not that bad, or maybe a couple more glasses of wine have helped me loosen up. They’ve certainly worked wonders on Steve who has now become positively outgoing! He even touched my arm, although I guess from the surprised look on his face he hadn’t realised he was going to until it was too late. Pity the foods finished and we’ll have to move on, I was just getting relaxed.
It could have been worse, I had a date once where the bloke ended up crying. I thought it was going okay, and casually asked him about his childhood. Well, before I knew it there were tears running down his face and I couldn’t make out what he was saying for the sobbing. God knows what the other people in the pub thought, I’ve certainly never been back to find out. He did send me a message a few days later, apologising and saying that perhaps he wasn’t ready for dating just yet - not ready for people full stop, more like. But in general I pride myself on giving good date - I always make an effort to look nice, and am witty and warm, asking lots of questions, listening and making eye contact. Let’s be honest, it’s not that tricky. And it’s only for a couple of hours so it doesn’t kill you to make the effort, but you’d be surprised how many people don’t bother. Like the guy who turned up with paint on his trousers - not because they were fashionably distressed, but because he’d not bothered to change out of his painting clothes! Or the bloke with nasal hair I could have platted. Dear God. No, upon reflection this one isn’t going to badly.
Where next I wonder? I don’t want to end up somewhere loud, where we spend the rest of the evening shouting at each other over the music, nodding in response to questions we can’t really hear. Coffee, I think. Somewhere quiet and cosy, but with a bit of a buzz to it, if that makes any sense. I wonder if Annie’s is still open? God, I haven’t been in there for years! Not since Simon fell over after we spent all night spiking his drinks, and Bruno the chef chased him out with a dirty mop. I’d forgotten about that night. I seem to remember sleeping on Nick’s kitchen table because his flat was tiny and he was too mean to let anyone share his bed. I must ring them.

Steve paid the bill while I was in the toilet, which was a bit awkward. I offered to pay my share, but he wouldn’t hear of it, which made me a bit cross. I hate having my decisions made for me, and now I feel like I owe him something. Too bad, I’m not sleeping with him, and I’ve resisted any discussion about that kind of thing so I hope he realises that. Although it has to be said he’s pleasingly tall, and in those jeans he’s got a cute arse….


Well, Annie’s is now a branch of Blockbuster. I wonder when that happened? I haven’t been in this part of town lately, so it could have been years ago. Shame really, this place needs somewhere to get a decent coffee a lot more than it needs somewhere to rent Ben Affleck films. I wonder what happened to Annie? Actually, come to think of it, I wonder if there ever was an Annie? I’m sure that wasn’t her name. I shouldn’t drink, it plays havoc with my memory.
Anyway, we ended up in a slightly posey bar, only because it was looked quiet and there were big leather sofas to sit on, although I’m wishing we’d not sat on the same one - we keep brushing against each other and if I’m not mistaken there’s a little sexual tension building. Honestly, I hadn’t meant to encourage him, but when I drink I forget how long my arms are and I keep knocking into him. And my knee too. Thirty four years old and I have no control over my own limbs!
Thank God we didn’t order cocktails. I’m trying to be desperately butch for the evening, so it was strictly lager for me. Besides, all that alcohol in one glass would end in tears. Oh, but I found out about the ex! I didn’t mention him, and really hoped he wouldn’t, but we were talking about pets and it turns out Steve had a dog that bit his boyfriend. The boyfriend wanted Steve to get rid of it, but Steve decided he liked the dog more. Sounds like bravado to me, otherwise he’d be over him by now. The stupid thing is that not long after they split up Steve had to move and couldn’t keep the dog anyway. I wonder why they don’t get back together? I wonder if another drink would be a really bad idea?


Hey, this is fun! Yeah, I’m pissed, but so’s he, and it kind of suits him. Much chattier. Much funnier. And this place is really nice too, not at all how I thought it would be - everyone seems really relaxed and friendly, not a single posey twat in the whole place. Perhaps it’s not their night? Cute barman too! What is it about barmen? Or waiters for that matter? I know they’re just being friendly to get a tip, and yet I fall for it every time! Perhaps I’ll go get another round in and slip him my phone number…

Chapter 3 - Nick, Friday

“I know he’s my brother, but that doesn’t stop him being a complete cunt!”
“What’s he done now?”
“Oh, the usual - getting sneery about my work. Who does he think he is? Working in that stupid office is hardly making the world a better place”
“Just ignore him, he only does it to annoy you. You know that. I don’t know why you let him upset you like this. Do you want those chips?
“No, they’re cold. I want pudding”
“What do you want?”
“Besides a brother who’s less of a twat and a mother who actually likes me? Something with custard. The stodgier the better”
“Mmmm, I like the sound of that. Now, what are the chances of getting the waiters attention without actually having to flash my tits at him?”

Jenny was a relatively new friend in comparison to all my others, but we’d got really close quite quickly, and as we worked near each other we saw quite a bit of each other, particularly in the daytime if neither of us were working. Tonight we’d met for a meal in the local pub as we’d both been unexpectedly busy and hadn’t caught up all week. She was fitting me in between work and an evening with her boyfriend. I was fitting her in between Richard & Judy and a repeat of Friends, Friday being my day off this week and ‘boyfriend’ being a dirty word.
I’d made the mistake of talking to my brother in the afternoon, which is why I was ranting and raving at her. I know it’s a mistake to call him at the office, but it’s the only place I know he’ll answer the phone so I risked it. Of course I got the usual lecture about taking personal calls at work, because he’s so important, but how would I know working in a supermarket as I do. Oh fuck off. You sell crap, it hardly makes you Nelson Mandela! What makes it worse is that our mother silently agrees with him, although what gives that cow the right to judge me is anyone’s guess. Family!

“So what you doing this weekend?”
“Not much I don’t think. Working tomorrow. Oh, but Brenda invited me to go to a gay club with some of the boys from work.”
“Brenda? Which one’s Brenda?”
“Kathy. Brenda’s just a nickname the boys gave her, and somehow it stuck.”
“You gonna go?”
“I’m not sure I can be bothered. They’re a nice enough bunch but I am their supervisor and I think they keep me at a distance a bit.”
“You should go, might be fun”
“We’ll see. What about you?”
“I just want to catch up with Tim, I feel like we’ve hardly had five minutes together this week.”

I knew I wasn’t going to go out on Saturday. It wasn’t the others who kept me at a distance, it was me. I found my new responsibility awkward and hadn’t worked out a way to get comfortable with it. I felt like they were laughing at me behind my back, which they probably were - they laughed at everyone. Even Brenda’s nickname had started out as an unpleasant joke, which was ironic considering how quickly she embraced it. Of course going out and getting pissed with them might have actually broken the ice but I think I’ve gone too far with the no thing to change my mind without looking stupid. They seem to go every week so maybe I’ll go next time.

“How is Tim?”
“Busy. He’s been away this week with work, so apart from a few texts we’ve not really been in touch.”
“How’s it going?”
“Hard to tell. He seems interested but then he forgets to phone for a few days and just when I’ve assumed he’s changed his mind about me he rings. But it’s early days so I’m trying not to think too much about it. Although obviously I am! Did I tell you I got asked out on a date?”
“No! Who?”
“Oh it’s just a guy from work, different department as me so he probably hadn’t heard that I was dating already. I was tempted to say ‘yes’. Still might.”
“You’re a dark horse!”
“Well it’s too early to say if Tim is going to turn into anything serious, so why not?”
“God, I wish I had them queuing up for me!”

That was a lie, as Jenny knew well, which is why she only smiled in response. In truth I was off men for a bit. Especially after the Dan episode. Need to lick my wounds. And save up the cash he took with him. Never mix friends and money - when will I ever learn that? Mum took great pleasure in lecturing me about that as well. You’d think she’d be a bit more sympathetic about the whole thing, but I guess as long as I’m not Simon she’ll always be disappointed in me. Silly cow.

“Do you think that waiter’s ever coming back with the pudding?”
“Not while there are young girls to chat up.”
“Oh don’t be so bitter! He’s a waiter, he’s supposed to flirt with people.”
“Well he didn’t flirt with me!”
“You were too wrapped up in your Simon rage to be charming, he was probably scared!”
“Perhaps we should get the bill when he comes back as well?”
“What’s your rush? Good episode of Casualty on or something?”
“Fuck off you cheeky cow.”

She had a point. What was the rush? I’d not yet succumbed to a cat so I hardly needed rush home. And I’d set the video for Holby City as I knew Jenny would keep me out later than I’d planned, but she was only saying it for effect - she’d been checking her watch secretly for the last half an hour, no doubt keen to get round to Tim’s. She’s always like this at the start - keen as mustard, trying to play it cool, always on a state of alert in case he phoned . I don’t blame her, I’d be the same. And for once Tim actually seems like a nice guy. Pretty handsome too, although he’s a bit short for my liking.

“How much tip?”
“Must we? I’m a bit short this week, and besides he was really slow.”
“You mean he didn’t smile and flirt with you.”
“So? I just felt he was a little brisk.”
“OK, I’ll leave it, he smiled at me.”
“Now I feel mean.”
“So you should you miserable git!”

She was joking of course, although she did have a point. I hate that automatic tipping, and is it my imagination or is service getting even worse than it already was? Still, she can afford the tip so I’ll let her leave it. It was nice to see her, she always makes me feel more like myself . While she went to the loo I absentmindedly fiddled with the salt and peppers, slyly looking at the people on the neighbouring tables: couple, couple, family, date, hen night. Time to leave before they get really rowdy.
Jenny came back, grabbed her jacket and we headed for the door. We stood dithering outside trying to decide what to do next. We were debating the relative merits of the local coffee shop or drink in another pub when Jenny’s mobile rang. As soon as she answered it I could tell it was Tim, as she turned away from me and lowered her voice. I turned the other way and feigned interest in the contents of the charity shop window, taking care not to stroll too far away in case I missed something interesting. I could tell from the snippets I could hear that any plans to make our evening last a little longer were about to be abruptly changed, and for a moment I felt sad.
The first thing she said when she finished her call was sorry, and I knew she wasn’t apologising for taking the call. She invited me to join her and Tim for a drink, but I wasn’t in the mood to tag along with the happy couple, so I made my excuses and left her to it.

No messages. There’s a surprise. Actually it was. Even after all this time I still expect to come home and find one from Dan, saying how sorry he is and could he come back. A small part of my brain somewhere understands that this is never going to happen, and that it’s a good job too, but I’m still at that stage where I hope it might. I’m not giving myself any grief about it - these things take time, and it’s not like I’m a rush is it?
So, how to spend the rest of the evening. TV? A DVD? A book and bed? The computer? Or maybe some porn…

Chapter 2 - Jim, Friday

Drinking at lunch time is such a bad idea! It’s essentially doomed to failure: you either do the smart thing and go after one pint, which leaves you with a sense of unfinished business, or you stay for the rest of the day, at which point it gets really, really messy. You can’t win. There is no happy medium. You just shouldn’t do it. Stick to food or coffee. Casual sex perhaps. Some shopping. But drinking? No no no.
So there I found myself in a pub, waiting for Simon. Inevitably he was late - some crisis with a stapler or something. I didn’t really get the jist of what he was saying. By then I was already most of the way through my first pint, and, having survived the morning on two cups of coffee and three cigarettes, it went straight to my head. Of course the first thing he did was buy me another to apologise for being late, and I was half way through that before the food arrived. Boy, I was flying! Simon was telling me the same old story about how much he hates his job, and I’d just gone into autopilot, nodding my head all the while knowing he loves it and will never leave. He’ll cry like a baby the day he retires, and the sooner he learns to chill out and accept that fact the better.
I’d kind of spaced out and was checking out the pub. Simon likes it because it’s quiet - there’s never any braying young folk to make him scared, whereas I like it because the young barman will sell you dope if you give him a wink. I’m pretty certain that’s not the only thing he’d sell, but I’ve never been curious enough to find out. Lunchtimes are quiet, even on a Friday - a couple of old men in the corner, old enough friends that they can just sit in silence and sip their pints. The young barman is smiling to himself as he texts someone, and two couples wandered in and headed straight into the back bar.
Thankfully the food brought Simon’s monologue to a temporary pause, so I took the chance to change the subject, and started telling him about what I’d done since I’d seen him last. It was only once I started that I realised I’d pretty much drifted through the last few weeks in a stoned haze. If anyone had asked I’d have said I was getting my head together after Maria leaving, but in truth the last thing my head felt like was together. Empty more like. Empty enough that by the time I got to bed I could sleep without thinking about why she’d gone and why I’d been such a dick. Again. Simon had tactfully not mentioned her. They’d never really gotten on anyway, so I doubt he was sorry she’d left. And someone else’s failure kind of makes you feel less bad about your own. That’s probably a bit mean, I doubt he thinks like that at all, but he certainly won’t miss her.
But I do. She’d been fun, and she’d let me be myself. In fact she’d encouraged me to be more like myself. When I’d felt like reining myself in she’d given me a look that said, “go on boy!”, so I had. It was probably that kind of stupid bravo that had finished us in the end. There’s a thin line between confident and cocky. And a thinner one between cocky and being a complete cock. I skipped over those lines, left them way behind and headed straight for fuckwit. Way to go boy.
Food finished I lit another cigarette, trying to blow the smoke away from Simon and save myself from one of his pursed little frowns. Yeah, I’m smoking again. And? We got talking about the weekend. Mine was completely empty, and I hoped it would stay that way. Simon had been invited to a gay club, by one of his friends, who I think meant well but might have been feeling a bit mischievous. He was inevitably tying himself up in knots about it. Should he go or shouldn’t he? Would he be too old? Could he dance? What was the point? If ever a man needed a spliff it was him! I tried the old, “you only live once” tactic, but I got the impression he’d already said ’no’ and was just looking for someone to tell him he’d done the right thing. Silly boy . I wonder if he’s happy?
We ended up agreeing to meet for lunch on Sunday, if nothing else came up. I think we both knew that we wouldn’t, but a back-up plan never hurts. And then we headed back to work, parting awkwardly, too stiff to hug, too drunk to shake hands. We settled for a little shuffling, and failed to look each other in the eye properly. I wonder what people thought when they saw us together? Brothers? Lovers? Strangers? I’m not sure we looked like friends.

Back in the office the desk swayed a little as I sat down at it. Thankfully we had no client meetings, and I managed to get out of a departmental meeting by waving a sheaf of papers about and muttering something about deadlines. I think everyone wanted as brief a meeting as possible, so one less over-opinionated moron was a blessing. I scattered the paper across the desk, then spent the rest of the afternoon chewing thoughtfully on a pencil, whilst frantically emailing everyone I knew to see what I’d missed whilst I’d been out of it at home.
Not much by the sound of it - no major relationship changes, no crises, no major acts of stupidity. All in all my friends were going through a settled phase, which made me feel even more like a fuck-up. You’d think someone would have an affair just to take the heat off me for a bit, but no. The nearest they could get to drama was Alex’s cat going missing, and even then it turned out that the lonely lady next door had ‘borrowed’ him for a few days. Come on guys, try harder!

Five pm sharp I was out of there. With no plans it seemed like a good idea to walk home. The bus would be full of people, tired and smelly from a week at work, trying to work up some excitement for the weekend. The air would do me good, well, it would if I wasn’t smoking as I walked. I deliberately took the long way home - away from the bus route and through the quiet streets lined with nothing but houses. I stopped in at the off licence for a bottle of wine, then spent too long in the Spar looking for food, finally giving up and deciding on a kind of takeaway roulette when I got back. Who wants to cook on a Friday? Who wants to eat on a Friday? Not me, not when I had a little packet from the barman wrapped up in the bottom of my pocket.
But first a bath. Wash the city off me. Wash work off me. Was the fuckwit off me. I stared at the place where the tiles meet the ceiling, hoping that they’d give me a sign. In truth it was more like meditating - focussing on one point until slowly the rest of the world vanished. I didn’t even notice the water get cold, or the cigarette go out in my hand, and I’d have probably stayed there all night if the phone hadn’t of rung. At first I thought it was next door, or upstairs, and when I finally realised it was my phone it was too late - I’d barely managed three damp steps onto the landing before it stopped ringing and the answer machine kicked in. It was Mum, trying to make me feel guilty because I’d not phoned her all week. But how could I phone her and not tell her I was feeling so miserable? But I’d not explained to her about Maria going because I’d never told her she’d arrived. So instead I stood on the landing, dripping over the floor until she hung up, then I headed back to the bathroom, promising myself I’d phone her yet knowing full well that I wouldn’t.

Chapter 1 - Simon, Friday

He’s left the lid of the fucking toothpaste again! God, as if I didn’t feel bad enough about being 37 and living with the same people I went to college with, I have to put up with someone misusing my toothpaste. And my toothbrush for all I know! How can a grown man be so hopeless? Honestly, I feel like his mother when I’m around him, and it’s all I can do to stop myself wiping his nose and asking if he’s got clean pants on. Yes, I know I’m uptight and need to relax more, but this doesn’t help
OK, calm down, it’s only toothpaste. Yeah right. And how many years has this been happening? God, I’ve gotta get out of here! It can’t be good for me. I swear I’ll have a stroke over something dumb like the washing up or who watered the plants last!
Still, at least he’s not about this morning, so I get to stomp round the house uninterrupted. And thank God it’s Friday! Oh shit, is that the time? No time for breakfast again, and at this rate I’ll be lucky to make the bus.

I love the fact there’s a newsagent between the flat and the bus stop. If it wasn’t for them I’d starve to death on a regular basis, and it’s nice to start the day with a cheery “hello” as I buy my paper and steal some chocolate from them. I could pay for it of course, but that’s not the point. Sometimes I don’t even eat it. It’s not about the chocolate, it’s about that brief moment when my hand reaches out to select something, when someone could turn round and catch you red-handed. I know it’s stupid, and if I ever got caught I’d literally die of shame, but it gets my heart racing and reminds me I’m alive. I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner - all my friends habitually shop-lifted their way through school so they had something to eat after they’d spent their dinner money on cigarettes. I was too busy doing my homework to have time. I was a twat.

You’d think after three years I’d know a few people on this bus, but we’re all so busy hiding behind our papers I’m hardly on nodding acquaintance with anyone. Everyone’s plugged into something - their phone, some music player, or tapping away on a palm thing as if they had something so vital they just couldn’t keep the thought in their head till they get off.
I’m as bad though: get on, open paper, hide behind it until I reach my stop. I’m not sure I even remember what the woman next to me looks like, although I can tell you more useless facts about today’s news than is really necessary. I should buy a book, something improving. Something that will make people look at me in a new light, and start up conversations with me.
I sometimes dream of meeting someone on the bus. Sharing a seat for a few stops, laughing and chatting as only strangers who’ll never meet again can. Once I thought that person would be a woman, but now I’m not so sure. It’s been a while, I’m not sure I’d remember how to behave if I met anyone anyway. God I must get out more.

Work. It’s slowly bleeding the life out of me. When did any of this shit become important to me? I used to be interested in stuff, now all I do is read reports, send emails and quietly resent my colleagues all day. And update my ‘Top 3 colleagues who should fall under a bus soon’ chart. Today’s chart sees Anita making a surprise leap to number one, and not just because those stupid shoes make horrid click-clacking noises on the floor. Who’d have thought Kevin would ever lose the top spot again, the man is too stupid to live! Or maybe I am for staying here all these years and putting up with these fools. Oh God, here comes Neil, if only I could make myself invisible.

I’m too old to be hiding from people in the toilet, but there’s a client in reception who I should have organised some stuff for, and inevitably I haven’t. He’s not here to see me, but I just want to avoid the, “oh hi Simon, you got those forms for me?” moment. I should be better at this. Or I should leave. I wonder if he’s gone now? I wish I’d brought the paper with me, but that would have been too obvious. And who wants to be trapped in the toilet with a report?

“oh hi Simon, you got those forms for me?”
Fuck. Bloody Neil, always running late, why can he never start a meeting on time.
“Just on my way to get them for you, I’ll pop them into you before you finish with Neil”
Fuck. Now I’ve got to do the bloody forms. Why didn’t I just give it to Anita to do in the first place? Now I’ll be late to meet to meet Jim. He won’t care, but I do hate being late. That’ll teach me. Except it probably won’t, it’ll just make me grumpier.

Haven’t seen Jim in weeks. Every time we plan to meet some personal (him) or work (me) thing gets in the way. Will be good to catch up with him, although it continually surprises me that we’ve remained friends as we’re so different. He’s far too laid back for my liking, and is basically winging it on a daily basis. He’d be a nightmare to live or work with, and thankfully I’ve been spared both experiences. But somehow he’s turned into a good mate, and I’m sure if I was in trouble he’d help. As long as I could drag him out of the house.
The pubs nice too - really quiet, unrestored, and unfashionably dirty. Somehow it missed out when the pub chains went made for light airy pubs with trendy cocktails, and it’s managed to hang onto it’s battered tables and jukebox full of scratchy vinyl. It’s really is like stepping back in time, and after it’s enveloped you for a while it’s hard to head back into the real world. One pint is never enough, but it will have to do today as there’s work to get back to.
But first I’ve got to get out of this place. There’s an awful Pub Posse who set up home in the nearest Weatherspoons every Friday lunchtime, and won’t take no for an answer if they catch you on the way out of the building. Honestly, it’s easier to say yes than put up a fight. I’ve seen them carry grown women to the pub before, although I think the struggle she put up was more for effect than anything else. But they’re not to be messed with, because if you say no they’ll only come back drunk and spend all afternoon giving you grief about it. And as one of them is a manager it’s pretty tricky for anyone to make a fuss about it, so we’ve all developed our own little ways of avoiding them. I like to leave a little earlier than I should, but because of those stupid forms I’ve missed the moment and now they’re loitering round reception for their leader. Guess who - Neil! Actually, I should revise my list - he really needs to go under a bus today. Perhaps I should go with them and attempt it on the way back, as they stumble along the High Street. Only trouble is that at this time of day the traffic is so slow it’d never work.

Phew, I got out. Neil came down with the client so the mob dispersed, now doubt going ahead to make a start without him. I waited till Neil nipped back into his office and legged it, head down just in case anyone should try and catch my eye. Out of the door, left, right, right again. Yeah, it’s the long way round, but it keeps me away from the mob. I’d phone Jim and let him know I’m running late, but neither of us has really embraced mobile phones - he just loses his, and I seemed to have managed well enough so far that it seems pointless to start.
Ok, the pub. My oasis for the next hour. Please let the food be quick, I’m starving. And please let Jim be here…

Panic!

This whole nonsense starts tomorrow and now all I can think is, "what have I let myself in for?!" I know it's supposed to be fun, but I'm fairly certain I'm about to make a huge arse of myself. Can you promise me something? If this is as shit as I fear can we just pretend it never happened, and just keep reading my other blog anyway?