Tuesday, July 06, 2004

Driving Away From Home 

Of course there was no actual need to have taken my Estonian Oompah Band CD with me to Birmingham. This is because Charlie is charm and loveliness personified, and not the man-eating femme fatale you so rashly assumed. Tsh, readers, eh? Mind you, she was charm and loveliness personified in rather foxy attire. Grrr.

My mobile rang somewhere south of Stoke.
“Do you want to answer that Charlie? It’ll be Girlfriend checking up on us.”
So she answered the phone, and then spent the next thirty minutes happily chattering away. By the time we got to Cannock I was starting to feel a little bit excluded. When she finally hung up, I asked, “What’s with the big cheesy grin? What did she say?”
“Oh, it wasn’t Beth,” she replied, cool as you like. “I think he said his name was Dave. He said he was at a really wild party and he couldn’t talk for long.”
“It didn’t bloody sound like he was in a hurry to me.”
“He wants to know if you’ve posted some song off yet for a competition on Radio 2.”
“So have you?”
“Well, erm, no actually. I’m going to redo it to try and make it feel less like a Burt Bacharach pastiche. And add a new bit in the middle.”
She looked at me sternly.
“I’ve been busy digging…” Good grief.
Then her phone rang. She talked all the way to Spaghetti Junction.
“That was Leanne,” she eventually said, checking her battery level. “She knew I’d be with you and wants to see how easy it is to get mentioned in your blog.”
“Bloody hell! You know about my blog?”
“Well duh, Mr. Pepys!”
“Oh shit. Oh really shit! Listen, about what I wrote about you yesterday. I think I might have gone a bit too far.”
“Too bloody right you’ve gone too far. We’ve just past Bromsgrove! Turn around at the next junction.”

Readers, I think you might be witnessing a coup. I don’t feel in control of my own blog anymore.
One minute you think you’re in charge, the next you’re Mikhail Gorbachev.
I don’t like to melodramatise, but I’ll always cherish our time together, you know, just in case.

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