Thursday, 2 October 2014
You scan the sea of faces for HER, for it is HER that you have come to dazzle with your wit and charm.
A tattooed beast sends your pint of lager flying, as he wades into a crowd of rowdy football fans. You curse your rotten luck and want to cry, because your new suit smells of Carling Black Label, and the damp patch over your trousers gives the impression that you've urinated in your underpants.
What will Jenny C make of this? You now resemble a drunken yobbo who can't control his bladder. You start to cry, and weaving your way through the crowded pub, like a defeated gladiator, you ask God why did it have to happen to YOU.
And then you cross, like ships in the night. You instantly recognise Jenny C, and as she takes you by the hand, a warm feeling fills your lager-stained trousers.
True love blossoms that very night, but after downing eighteen pints of strong lager, before leaving the pub, you decide that Jenny C is no match for Arsenal versus Tottenham, on the pub's wide-screen TV.
Jenny weeps. You belch. She feels sad. "Come on yer bastards!" you cry, as Tottenham rush at Arsenal's goal.
In another life, you would have been happy together. In this life, football is the only thing that you want - morning, noon and night - as well as a refund from BOYS & GIRLS FOREVER and another pint of lager.