comfortable talking with her. She had long straight auburn hair, pale skin, and an attractive and consistent smile. She had a beautiful voice. Fortunately.
Coincidentally, she also happened to have lots of other more than appealing qualities which I didn’t notice at the time because, on the face of it, Ella was another irrational crush.
‘They all start that way,’ I said to myself, rationalising. ‘It’s what you make of it that counts.’
I was making a hash of it. But it was going better than any other attempt so far. At that time of course, I had no idea that it was going to be such a significant crush, or how significant my walk of shame would eventually be. Back then, I just was hoping things would go well. Not that I expected them to, but I was damn well keeping my sheets clean.
‘I think there’s glass in your bed,’ Mart called through the door.
‘Thanks, Mart,’ I called back. ‘I’ll be sure to remember that when I get in half-cut at three in the morning.’
‘Yeah, you want to hurry up in there?’ Mart said. ‘I’ve got business to take care of.’
Mart has legendary bowels.
‘Downstairs, you stinky fucker,’ Frank shouted from his room. Mart ignored him, and bombed into the john as I left. Craig was pacing in the hallway. He was impatient – not because he was in a hurry for anything in particular, but because waiting for people burns Craig like holy water.
‘Where’s Frank?’ Craig asked.
‘Changing his shirt,’ I said.
‘Change yours?’ he asked. I shook my head.
‘It’s my lucky shirt,’ I lied. It wasn’t, of course. I’m not sure if I had a lucky shirt. Probably just all the ones I nearly died in, but didn’t.
‘No blouse tonight?’ Frank asked, emerging in a laid back stripy number.
‘I lent it to Paedo,’ I said.
‘You hear he’s going out with Vikki, now?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘He may not realise it’s a blouse.’
‘Come ooooonnnn,’ Lance said, waving his empty stubby in the doorway. It was time to go out.
‘Mart’s in the can,’ Craig said.
Unbidden, we went downstairs and waited for Mart outside. In the rain.
Ella wasn’t in the Vic, and neither was Kate. The Vic had just exactly everyone who was always in the Vic, including all of us. There were locals fighting over the pool table, and drunk mutton wandering around them in miniskirts looking for a nasty lay. We sat drinking beers, not playing track and field. Lance was happy.
‘Alright,’ I said, to total indifference. ‘Let’s go to the union after this one.’
‘What’s so different about the union?’ Lance asked. ‘We’re just going to sit around and drink beers there, only they’ll be worse beers.’
‘Damn your logic,’ I said. To be fair, the union was the only place on earth that Lance wouldn’t settle for the house lager. Union Carlsberg was 1.45 a pint, and smelled like eggy farts and chip fat.
‘Yeah, I’m happy here,’ Mart said. This was a lie. Mart was never happy after five pints. In another pint he’d start talking about how shit St. Andrews was, and two further down the line it would all get political. It wouldn’t be Saturday if he didn’t call someone a fascist.
‘This man wants a bit of Ella,’ Craig said, eventually.
I nodded, at last. Grateful not to be the one bringing it up.
‘Come on guys,’ I said. ‘She’s bound to be there, and I’m really pulling out the stops this time.’
‘He’s hardly been annoying about it at all,’ Craig said, in admirable defence.
‘Sounds like this could be the one,’ Frank said, chuckling.
‘Schlong says you should just get in there and pull her,’ Lance said. He did a hand motion, that was not an analogue to pulling someone.
‘Yeah, I’m going to go ahead and file that under controversial advice to be followed as a last resort.’
‘Fine, we’ll go to the union, just for Quinn,’ Mart said.
‘No pressure,’ Frank told me.
‘Can we at least wait until it’s busy, though?’
Coincidentally, she also happened to have lots of other more than appealing qualities which I didn’t notice at the time because, on the face of it, Ella was another irrational crush.
‘They all start that way,’ I said to myself, rationalising. ‘It’s what you make of it that counts.’
I was making a hash of it. But it was going better than any other attempt so far. At that time of course, I had no idea that it was going to be such a significant crush, or how significant my walk of shame would eventually be. Back then, I just was hoping things would go well. Not that I expected them to, but I was damn well keeping my sheets clean.
‘I think there’s glass in your bed,’ Mart called through the door.
‘Thanks, Mart,’ I called back. ‘I’ll be sure to remember that when I get in half-cut at three in the morning.’
‘Yeah, you want to hurry up in there?’ Mart said. ‘I’ve got business to take care of.’
Mart has legendary bowels.
‘Downstairs, you stinky fucker,’ Frank shouted from his room. Mart ignored him, and bombed into the john as I left. Craig was pacing in the hallway. He was impatient – not because he was in a hurry for anything in particular, but because waiting for people burns Craig like holy water.
‘Where’s Frank?’ Craig asked.
‘Changing his shirt,’ I said.
‘Change yours?’ he asked. I shook my head.
‘It’s my lucky shirt,’ I lied. It wasn’t, of course. I’m not sure if I had a lucky shirt. Probably just all the ones I nearly died in, but didn’t.
‘No blouse tonight?’ Frank asked, emerging in a laid back stripy number.
‘I lent it to Paedo,’ I said.
‘You hear he’s going out with Vikki, now?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘He may not realise it’s a blouse.’
‘Come ooooonnnn,’ Lance said, waving his empty stubby in the doorway. It was time to go out.
‘Mart’s in the can,’ Craig said.
Unbidden, we went downstairs and waited for Mart outside. In the rain.
Ella wasn’t in the Vic, and neither was Kate. The Vic had just exactly everyone who was always in the Vic, including all of us. There were locals fighting over the pool table, and drunk mutton wandering around them in miniskirts looking for a nasty lay. We sat drinking beers, not playing track and field. Lance was happy.
‘Alright,’ I said, to total indifference. ‘Let’s go to the union after this one.’
‘What’s so different about the union?’ Lance asked. ‘We’re just going to sit around and drink beers there, only they’ll be worse beers.’
‘Damn your logic,’ I said. To be fair, the union was the only place on earth that Lance wouldn’t settle for the house lager. Union Carlsberg was 1.45 a pint, and smelled like eggy farts and chip fat.
‘Yeah, I’m happy here,’ Mart said. This was a lie. Mart was never happy after five pints. In another pint he’d start talking about how shit St. Andrews was, and two further down the line it would all get political. It wouldn’t be Saturday if he didn’t call someone a fascist.
‘This man wants a bit of Ella,’ Craig said, eventually.
I nodded, at last. Grateful not to be the one bringing it up.
‘Come on guys,’ I said. ‘She’s bound to be there, and I’m really pulling out the stops this time.’
‘He’s hardly been annoying about it at all,’ Craig said, in admirable defence.
‘Sounds like this could be the one,’ Frank said, chuckling.
‘Schlong says you should just get in there and pull her,’ Lance said. He did a hand motion, that was not an analogue to pulling someone.
‘Yeah, I’m going to go ahead and file that under controversial advice to be followed as a last resort.’
‘Fine, we’ll go to the union, just for Quinn,’ Mart said.
‘No pressure,’ Frank told me.
‘Can we at least wait until it’s busy, though?’
Similar Books
