I’ve been told a few times that I have a silly habit, that sometimes for no reason in completely the wrong situations, I just sit and snicker, giggling at my own thoughts, getting lost in ridiculous memories or imagining situations turning into circus-worthy events. This is the one that made me snicker today.
NIGHT 1:
There I was at the fancy pancy Edinburgh festival of 2 thousand und 7 with my very own show. How exciting, how lucky! Until, of course, one must hand out fliers, competing with all 2800 other shows. Upon the buzzy High Street handing out fliers, suddenly a very handsome Australian gentleman took a flier from my friend and my hormone controlled default kicked in. Ooph, he was hotty at first sight, a tall Matthew Fox-esque mancreature and lovely little ray of light in the dark dark world of flier-handing-outing-ness. Lettuce call him Johnny.
Oh Johnny. He was witty and clever and very charming. And I, ah yes, with my long eyelashes and convincing giggles, was guilty of the Flirt. Some may use the word ‘cocktease’, but there were no feathers I assure you. A harmless flirt, I swear.
What a first impression, what a match we were! But No! Tragedy! He was leaving the festival the next day and so took my number for one single night of hangout pleasure.
My dad had driven from London to see me and my show and so I was a very bad daughter and ditched my dad for a guy I didn’t know and wangled the use of his car at the same time. Bad child. Bad manipulative child. Sweet, kind father.
I picked him up and we went for a drive, I noticed he smelt a bit funny, kinda like a wet dog wrapped in a wet towel, but thought maybe he’d had a really long interesting day, walking from play to book launch to a meditation in the park. We parked. In a dodgy, no-one around parking lot, but we parked. The thing about new people and especially girls, is that something happens to the bod that causes a pathetic release of giggle-mones, hormones that just make you fuckin giggle, for no reason. Then your body lies and tells you that you’re falling in love and like this new manfriendbeast and want want want. But don’t be no fool no.
I found out he was travelling round the world. Oh romantypantic! Smell now totally forgotten. *Flutter flutter*. He told me he didn’t drink at all and I was super impressed after having seen many a man lose his face when liquor licks. Ah a sober man, how truly new age and liberating. Love, it must be! He said he was a ‘recovering performer’ – failed, recovering, whatever, but I didn’t think much of it.
He was talking a lot, though. A lot. Shutup new man, shutup and let me say something. Shut shut shut! I didn’t even get a sentence out, probably because I was so stupidly giggling at first, so I didn’t think much of it.
He was about to go to Berlin and joked about how cool it would be for me to be there, but I didn’t think much of it.
Then he mentioned how frustrating it was that we were stuck in a car with nowhere to go. Why God? Why would we need somewhere to go? Oh so innocent am I, giggle giggle. Because he wanted to bed me. That’s why, but no, no no no, I’m not that kind of girl, besides, I was sober and we had nowhere to go.
Eventually I got a little bored of jokes I’d heard before and awful impersonations that in any other situation would get shot by a firing squad after a paralysing-but-not-lethal electrocution. But he was hot and foreign and we were both in a new city, so, I didn’t think much of it.
And we did kiss, briefly. And I swear by Jehova and his merry men that this man had not had a cleaning substance of any kind in his mouth since I was bathed in placenta.
I dropped him off and all in all, despite the incessant talking, the should-be-illegal body odour and the possibly fly-infested mouth, I had a good time. I’m always up for new exthpewiences, besides, he was leaving the next day so I didn’t think much of it.
NIGHT 2:
Ah, a surprise from a ‘private number’ phonecall, ‘Hello? Oh hi Johnny, you’re still here? But why? For me? Oh. Oh my. That’s…nice. Tonight? Um…’ OH! DEAR! FUCK! I had lied the night before and told him how much it sucks that he’s leaving, because, I knew he was leaving and it was a nice thing to say. Silly silly naive girl. ‘I’m busy, I…have no legs or face, I lost it, I can’t, I’m dead, I hate cats, I…Ok Ok Ok, I’ll meet you.’ Wow, I was embarrassingly easily pushed over.
We found a lovely little bar. He doesn’t drink. I do. And thank god I’d had a glass of wine before, so I at least I had my sense of humour warmed for the proceedings.
Ooooh yes, by the way, he was wearing the exact (down to the underwear scrambling out the top of his jeans) outfit as the night before. Ah, but he is a traveller and so all would have been forgiven, but only now, OOOOnly NOW, the smell that no human should exude was so god forsakenly awful, that I think the rotting rats wrote a complaint.
After ordering his fruit smoothie (hoo-fuckin-ray), he started speaking…for over 2 hours. Timed, literally, on my mobile. And no, I didn’t stop him because I was sooo amused that I was in semi-impressed awe – and also my mind wondered off. I tried to count my eyelashes and pondered that a quarter times a quarter actually means a quarter of a quarter, but 20 times 20 doesn’t mean 20 of a 20, it means 20 20’s. Fuckin fascinating. I must mention that we did have a brief break so he could have a roll-up, where he managed to do a handstand on a public bustling Edinburgh festival street. And he refused to come down. No, he said. No. I won’t come down from my handstand. Look at me, look at me, look at me! So I went inside and waited for the proud handstanding man to return.
These are the things he politely confided in me. I share with you, as my gift to you:
- He doesn’t drink…because he’s a recovering drug addict and alcoholic.
(Oh. That’s ok. There are lots of wonderful recovering addicts)
- He only has 2 changes of clothes and wears them until they smell so bad that he absolutely has to do something about it.
(A traveller, marginally forgivable)
- He…hadn’t showered that day…or the day before, now that that he thinks about it
(Also, the travel thing and easy to overlook, but then…)
- He was a heroine, ecstasy (every drug) addict and alcoholic from the age of 15
(Some people like to try it, it’s not there fault they get addicted…
- He dropped out of school when he was 15
(Some of the most successful people didn’t finish school)
- He went to rehab for 10 months when he was 19
(At least he knew he needed help)
- He has slept with 65 women…
(Ok I guess. He must be very good in bed?)
- And 10 men
(Oh)
- Only 4 of those 10 were relatively pleasant
(Almost 40%, that’s a good average)
- He’s a male slut
(Nooo?!)
- I mustn’t worry because he has taken loads of Aids and other STD tests after all the injections from the Heroine.
(Whew, what a relief)
- He loves hard core stuff where he can completely dominate
(Everyone has a fetish of some kind I suppose)
- He worked for charities in London doing surveys on the side of the road
(At least it’s work and it’s for a good cause)
- He was suicidal while being a drug addict so at least gave him something to look forward to
(Heart breaking, have a hug)
- He’d love to see me in Berlin, but I mustn’t expect him not to have sex with other people before then…
(Ok thanks for the warning, I was really banking on your fidelity for our true love to survive)
- He went to clown school
(UNFUCKING-FORGIVABLE! FUCK FUCK FUCK What am I doing here!!!?))
It was the clown comment that drew the line.
He told me how much he knew that I would long for him when he leaves and that he’ll see me in Berlin in 2 weeks, that we may not have a place to stay there, but we’d have each other. (I’m not going anywhere near Berlin! I’m not even going to stay on the same hemisphere as you!!)
His last line? “I’m going to sever this umbilical chord and make it as least painful for you as I can”. WHAT #^&*(%% UMBILICAL CHORD? WHAT ARE YOU ON SMELLYMAN?
And with that, it was all over. It was an exthpewience alright. I must just say:
*Dear God and your Reindeer, I thank you and every force in the universe that I did not have sex with this man on Night 1. And THIS is why I don’t believe in one night stands, because you just never know if they went to Clown school.
