Anyway, we called out Optimum Bodgers (our maintenance company) and they came down with all the gaffer tape they could find in B&Q to sort it out. As I was fiddling around in the dairy cabinet, looking for the most death-fearing products, one of the guys drove up a conversation. I liked this conversation. It wasn't one of those bullshit Manic Street Preacher conversations, y'know the ones overly-populated with small-talk filler about weather and Amy Childs. He went straight in to the hardcore:
"Dave, my girlfriend, of whom I have been with about 10 minutes keeps going to see her ex all the time, they were together a billion years and she gets really angry when I say it makes me uncomfortable; what can I do?"
Never underestimate a girl's stupidity for her ex, or a guy's for that matter. Like walking down the street and thinking: "If I step into the road right now a car would hit me and I would die, should I try?" there's a nervous tendancy for self-destruction that surrounds ex-partners. All the what if's and nostalgia seem to warp the fact that he/she was probably a complete dickhead and should have been sentenced to a stint in Siberia years ago. Or X-Factor as they're calling it these days.
Fuck, I hate Simon Cowell.
The poor fella stood little chance, he wanted to force an ultimatum, she would never have chosen him; the safe pavement is never anywhere near as appealing as those headlights. So bright, so captivating, they take the legs right out from under you and give you a face-full of glass.
I told him he should just try and arrange a threesome, jizz on her ex and then punch her in the face. Safe in the knowledge there's probably no way it could give their relationship any less chance of succeeding in the future. He reluctantly agreed.
Anyway, as no one else is sending me any of their problems to sort out and my interest in making up a problem and writing a bullshit solution to it is waining, here's a picture of my cat on the radiator:
Good work, Nacho.
