11 posts tagged “drunk”

I swear, Bert is acting so weird ever since I started dating (i.e. ravaging the magnificent body that belongs to) Leo. In his poor, strange (and very mistaken) mind, he likely thinks we're dating or something because we shagged once while drunk. (Well. If I dated everybody I ever shagged, I'd have a much busier life than I do, that is for certain.)

And what is it with Tom, too?! He keeps ringing me up, asking me when I'm available to come over and do something naughty in his kitchen. (I swear, the man is obsessed with kitchen sex. There are other rooms in his flat that are just as good!) He was none too pleased when I told him I had a boyfriend now.

"And he's fabulous." I grinned. "And... large."
"Large?" Tom asked over the phone. "...How large?"
"Quite large."
"...Bigger than me?"
"Oh, Tom," I said with a teasing laugh. "Most men are."
And then he hung up on me. My God. He can be such a baby sometimes.

Apparently, Fran's got herself a new job. Well... a job. She seems to be having a hard time of it lately though. First, her apartment is shrinking because that pervy landlord of his put in a new room beside hers and now she's got a job where she has no idea what's going on. When she was over last night for a chat, she told us about it.

"And there's this guy there... who does nothing but play with his balls all day!"
I stared at her. "Wot? Out in the open? Where everybody can see?"
"No, no," she said, taking a drag of her cigarette. "He puts his hands in his pockets and plays with them."
Bert winced. "That is disgusting."
Elle looked at him, her eyebrow furrowed. "I caught you doing that just last week, ya silly bugger."
Bert shrugged. "Well, I was in my home, wasn't I? I wasn't at work."
Elle rolled her eyes. "My home. And you don't have a job."
Bert crossed his arms over his chest- not an easy feat in one of my camisole tank tops. "I do too have a job. I have a gig at a comedy club tomorrow there. So there."
I glanced at Elle. "It's karaoke night at that creepy comedy club he made us go to last week."

Leo took me to lunch today. It was brilliant. The restaurant was nice, not too expensive but not cheap, by any means. We went for a walk around Piccadilly and took some photos like some daft tourists. Then we drove in his fancy car to his fancy flat in fancy Notting Hill and made love.

That's right, I said. "Made love."

There was wine, rose pedals in the bath tub, brand new satin sheets, candles, the whole lot. And he even bought me some sexy lingerie to wear while we made love.

Needless to say, it was completely fab. Also, Elle is completely jealous... and, if I'm not mistaken... Bert may be jealous too. But I'm not sure who he's actually jealous of- Leo or me.

When Elle got back from shagging her quite attractive boyfriend, she burst into the shop. She started screaming like the lunatic that she is. She woke me up, actually. I was uncertain where I was at first. Yes, I have woken up with someone else's foot in my face, but never in the shop. (Come to think of it, I once woke up with my own foot in my face... That was an interesting night...)

I started screaming with Elle when faint memories from the night before crashed back into my mind. Bert. Wine. Search for condom. Giving up on the search. Wild, mad, rabid, drunken shagging.

Oh, good God.

I pushed Bert's leg off me and he toppled onto the floor. "Oy. What the..." He winced around, the mid-day sun hitting his sleepy face. He looked at me, looked at himself, looked at the blanket that wasn't doing a great job covering his skinny, naked body.

"No," he said suddenly. "We didn't."

Elle wasn't saying anything. Her mouth just hung open. She looked a bit like a fish, really. I just wanted to shove a sandwich in her big open gob.

I didn't say anything. I knew for a fact that yes, sadly and unfortunately, we had. This is me, here. Pissed or sober, I do enjoy shagging. But as I was blind drunk, I would want to shag anybody... and in this case, it was Bert.

Bert the Trannie.

Bert slowly rose to his feet, holding the blanket around himself. He glanced at Elle. "Morning."

"You two shagged!!" Elle shouted. "On Auntie Madge's couch!!"

I cringed. Oh, what an awful thought.

That afternoon, I called Tom. Some guy answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi. Is Tom there?"

"Yes, baby. Just a sec."

Jesus. I shag a trannie and Tom goes gay? What on earth is wrong with this day?! ...That rhymed. Fab.

"Hey Elise! How are you? Get into any trouble last night?"

Yes.

"No. Just sat home watching EastEnders... Who answered the phone just now?"

"Oh. That was Billie."

I blinked. "You've gone gay. Fab. Could this day get any worse?"

"Billie's a girl, you twat!"

"Yeah, I bet." I scratched the back of my neck. "Tom, we have to talk..." I bit my lip. "I think I might be pregnant."

Yes, call me a bitch, whatever you like. At that moment, I didn't care. I didn't even know if I was preggers or not. However, I would much rather say Tom is the father of my pretend baby than recognize Bert The Trannie as the dad.

Although, a little baby might not be so bad...

Well, this day started off fabulously. I woke up with the worst hangover I've ever had- thanks for that Elle. And then I realized that it was sodding Valentine's Day. It's lovely when you've got someone but it's shit when you don't.

Last year, Mark and I went on the London Eye and had dinner at a romantic restaurant and got champagne and shagged about thirty thousand times.

I called Tom, just to see if he wanted to get together, but he says he's got a date with some trollop he met online. I bet she's fat. Fat and ugly. And I hope she's rubbish in bed. Or, better yet, I hope Tom suddenly becomes "unable" and she laughs at him.

Ah, yes. That would be fab.

Well, sod it. Sod this whole day.

Elle is off with Theo tonight. God, he really is quite cool. And pleasant. And polite. And charming. And sodding gorgeous. I still have yet to figure out what he sees in her... and not in me.

I found Bert in the kitchen, slowly sipping at a bottle of cheap wine. I ruffled his hair.

"I thought you had some gig tonight," I said. "Some anti-Valentine's Day poetry thing."

Bert glanced at me and scowled. "It got cancelled. The MC got a date at the last minute." He bleched. "The fucking nob."

I sat down across from him and held his hand. "Oh, Bert. I'm sorry. I know you were really looking forward to it." I smiled weakly. "You were going to borrow my nicest outfit and everything for it."

Bert sighed loudly, his shoulders dropped. "Plus, you know... Elle's out with Theo tonight." He looked at me. "He's such a prat, i'n't he?"

I nodded. "Yes." No, not really. "He certainly is."

Bert finished off that bottle and pulled another one out of a paper bag. "Here. Drink up. If I'm going to have a shit Valentine's, I might as well be pissed."

So, Bert and I drank several bottles of wine, laughed, watched a little telly... and then ran out of wine. So, naturally, we stumbled out of the shop, hunting for more wine.

"That'll be twenty pounds please," said the liquor store clerk with a raised eyebrow.

I laughed and looked at Bert. "Fuck. I don't have any money."

Bert waved a hand at me and slapped twenty quid on the counter. "Keep d'change, eh? You're a good man s'ya can keep d'change!"

"Er, thanks."

So, we stumbled back to the shop, which we had accidently left unlocked- oh well. We drank a couple more bottles of wine and fell onto the floor in front of Elle's desk after dancing around to music on the radio.

"I could be a singa!" I exclaimed, bottle in hand. "See? Watch." I sang into the wine bottle like a microphone. "So, if you're lonely, you know I'll be here wai'in for you! I'm just a crosshair! I'm just a shot away from you!"

"You know," Bert said, interrupting my jam session. "You're actually quite pretty! And sometimes I feel so bad, Elle treats you like rubbish sometimes and you don't deserve it."

"I know I won't be leaving here... wiiiiiith yoooooou!!"

Bert stumbled over to me. "I'm gon' kiss you, zat alright?"

And then he did. And it was actually kind of nice... well, nice for being a drunken kiss. Not too sloppy or dribbly.

Everything after that is a bit of a blur, unfortunately. I do remember that there was some removal of clothing... and I sang some more, but I was in my knickers... and then there something about looking for something and then giving up.

Oh, my God. I know what we were looking for before we just said "to tell with it". Oh, my God.

We were looking for a condom.

Oh, shit. 

Manny looked like he'd recently been in tears when he stormed into Whyte Books that afternoon.

I had just gotten back for Tom's place a few minutes before Manny came barging in. My afternoon romp with Tom had lead to a casual dinner which, naturally, lead to the bedroom which lead to me staying the night which lead to some early morning shagging which lead to me being very late for work. I still hadn't told Elle about my new, very modern way of life. I didn't know if I would ever tell her, either. Honestly, it was really none of her business.

But I always did enjoy making my sister insanely jealous.

Manny crossed his arms over his chest, stood in the corner of the shop and pouted without a word.

Elle raised an eyebrow at him, pouring herself a glass of wine at her desk, not likely her first of the day. "Oy. Planet of the Apes extra! May we help you?"

I pretended to shelve some books nearby, sliding them in randomly. (King Lear is considered Military History, right?) "Manny, what's wrong? You look..." Like an especially hairy Klingon-Hobbit cross-breed. "...upset."

"I'm quitting Black Books!" he announced. "I can't stay there anymore! I refuse! I won't put up with such treatment any longer! I won't!"

Elle just blinked at him. "...Okay..." She put the cork back in the wine and

"You've actually quit then?" I asked. "I mean, you've said several times that you were going to quit but never did."

Manny shoved his hands into his pockets and frowned. "Well, not yet. But I'm going to!"

Elle snickered. "Yeah. Right."

"I will!" he shouted, startling the tiny old lady customer nearby. "I'll do it, I swear!"

"Oy, shut y'gob!" snapped the tiny old lady customer.

Manny's smiled weakly. "Sorry, ma'am." He sidled over to where I was, taking strange tiny quick steps. "Can I talk to you somewhere in private?" he asked in a whisper. "It's really important."

He followed me into the kitchen we sat down.

Manny didn't seem to know how to start. So, I did.

"So," I said. I cleared my throat. "What did you want to discuss-"

"Oh," he said. "Right. Well, I don't have many things here stopping me from leaving Black Books... 'cept you."

I blinked at him. "Wot?"

Manny shrugged. "Well, I mean, we do have a connection, you and I. You know, chemistry. For Christ sake, we slept together over the holiday! I just..." I let out a long sigh. "If there was a reason for me to stay 'round here, I gladly would."

He's mad. Obviously, he hit his head and now there is something wrong with his brain. I mean, technically I did sleep with him over the holiday but if I had feelings for every bloke I shagged, we would have some issues.

"What I'm trying to say is..." Manny finally looked me directly in the face. "Would you like to go on a date with me? A proper date, I mean. Dinner? Movie?"

I didn't say anything.

"Maybe a walk in Covent Garden?"

I still didn't say anything.

"...Trip to the zoo?"

"Look, Manny-"

"Oh, no."

"Manny, you're a great guy," I said. "But I just don't fancy you that way. I'm sorry if lead you on. I never meant to."

He looked genuinely confused. "But... but we slept together on New Year's Eve!"

"We were drunk!" I exclaimed. "I would have never shagged you if I had been sober!"

That did not come out as eloquently as I'd hoped.

Manny's face tightened. Oh, God. Please don't cry... here.

"Right. Well... Didn't expect that." He slid his chair out and headed out, stopping at the doorway. "Bye Elise. Have a nice life." And then he left.

And I felt awful.

"I have a surprise for you, dear sister!" Elle exclaimed, grabbing my arm and taking me to the back of the shop. "Look!"

My eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Are you drunk?"

Elle crossed her arms over her chest. "Do I... look drunk to you, dear sister?"

I blinked. "Yes."

Elle shook her head. "Never mind that." She pointed at a small door that had previously been hidden behind a load of books that she was too lazy to clean up until recently.

I looked at her. "Bravo Elle. It's a broom closet. You should be given an award for your great achievement. Do you happen to know if they give out Nobel Prizes for finding broom closets?"

Elle glared at me. "This is no ordinary broom closet."

Hobbit_door

"You're right," I said. "It looks like a hobbit hole."

Elle's mouth twisted in thought. "It really does, doesn't it?"

I nodded. "Yup. Anyway, unless there's any other broom closets you'd like to waste my time with, I'm going out."

I left out the part about where I would be heading off to- Tom's flat. He and I had been shagging like rabbits ever since having lunch together the week before. And best of all, neither of us had a significant other to worry about walking in on us... Although, we still were pretending that we could get caught, just to add to the excitement. Since then, we've done it on every appliance and piece of furniture in his flat- including the kitchen sink (which was a bit uncomfortable, I have to say). Tom and I had decided to keep things between us... informal. We'd dated before and it hadn't worked out, so keeping it unofficial (and, therefore, without boundaries) was best. Boundaries are for boring, married couples. And boring, married couples surely do not do some of the things we had already done.

"No, no, no!" Elle said, not getting go of my arm. She whipped the broom closet door open. Inside was a fair-sized room with a door on the other end. "You won't have to sleep on the sofa anymore! You've got your own bedroom now!"

I stared at her. Had she honestly not even noticed that I hadn't actually slept on that sofa for over a week? Was Elle seriously that blind and daft? Apparently.

I ducked my head down and followed Elle into the hobbit door. The walls were papered with pages from Big Fat Cocks. I pointed to one of the pages. "Hey! I think I've read that article!"

Elle glanced at me, raising an eyebrow.

I laughed awkwardly. "Er... Just kidding! Of course, I've never read that article... or had a subscription to that magazine..." I rolled my eyes. I pointed to the door at the other side of the room. "Where does that lead to?"

Elle's face lit up like a child's at Christmas. "The wine cellar of the restaurant next door." She squeezed past me and opened the door, revealing shelves and shelves of wine- most of which was probably much better than the cheap rubbish she puts in her gob.

I sat down on the purple velvet couch and looked around my new room. "I like it." I nodded in approval. "I'll have to do some redecorating-" Liar. "-but generally, I like it."

"Fab! Fabbity fab fab!" Elle said, falling into one of the dusty bean bag chairs, leading me to believe that she had already gotten into the stolen wine. "Now you can get your stuff out of boxes and out of the hall."

Later on that day, I took two bottles wine from the wine cellar and went to Tom's. And then we shagged. Nine times.

And it was fab. Fabbity fab fab!

When we last left off, Bert The Tranny had his tongue down my throat. Despite all the liquor we'd consumed over the past several hours, his breath still tasted a bit minty... Was there a mint-flavored drink in the cabinet that I had missed out on?

Elise. Focus. What are you DOING?!

Snogging a fab-looking man... who happens to enjoy wearing women's clothing, that's what I'm doing.

Slut! You know very well that Elle fancies the pants off of him! Stop what you are doing right now!!

I don't know anything about that!

Okay, wow. Tranny Man's hand is heading south of the border.

"Bert," I said, tearing my lips away from his.

"Wha?" His head wobbled with drunkenness.

"We're both pissed. Let's not do this. Let's just... be friends." I put my head on his shoulder. "Alright?"

Bert shrugged. "Dat's fine, luff. Just thought... as we're in France 'n all. But if y'don't want to, me won't."

Elise. Do you realize what just happened?

No. What's that?

Your just turned down a shag.

Oh my God. I did do that. I did, I did!!

Good girl.

While Bert passed out on the bed, I hobbled down to the hotel bar and ended up going back to the room of a traveling businessman named... Oh, shit. What was his name again? Bob? Darren? Kurt? Jonathan? Well, whatever his name was, he was rubbish. Kept calling me "Sharon". And then he cried at the end, which is never attractive.

When I woke up in the morning beside What's-His-Face, I grabbed my clothes off the floor and slipped down the hall to my hotel room. Bert was in the shower. I tried to call Elle on the room's phone but there was no answer. Where could Elle possibly be?

Honestly, if the phone rings one more time, I will smash it with the stapler.

 While Elise was getting dressed like a tart, I put on some skinny-legged jeans (that Elise forced upon me) and some top that Bert picked out of Elise's suitcase for me while she was dousing herself in perfume and sparkles.  When she finally came down, Bert and I were trying to see how many shots of gin we could down in two minutes.  Then Elise challenged me to it, but she can't really stand the stuff, so, naturally, I won.

I found out that all three of us are cheap; after arguing over who would pay for a cab, we decided to walk.  It was damn cold.  I'm surprised Elise didn't die from frost bite on the way there; I'm pretty sure she was wearing Bert's mini skirt (which he wasn't).  Surprisingly, Bert was dressed like a normal bloke: t-shirt and jeans...with fairy wings that he had tucked under his arm.  He explained that you can't exactly chat up birds when you're dressed like them, so he was "dressing down" for the occasion.  Since we were half-pissed anyways, it seemed to make sense.

Once we got to the club, we staggered in, choking on the dry ice as it filled our lungs.  I decided a drink would clear my lungs up (I repeat, it made sense seeing as I was already half pissed), as Elise went to "shake it" on the dance floor.  Bert and I sidled up to the bar and did a couple more shots.  Then some guy sat next to me, pushed a couple sweets my way, winked and disappeared in a flash of strobe lights.  I’m not afraid to admit that I was completely and totally smashed.  It could have all been in my head.  But I know for sure that I did eat those sweets because Bert told me later that I did.  He also informed me that they weren't sweets, but nothing less than ectasy.

After I took the "sweets," I could feel the music in me (is this possible?) and so I dragged Bert out onto the floor and began dancing like I was mad.  I was flinging my arms everywhere, doing my Mick Jagger dance impersonation and flinging my arms around some more.

That's when I hit someone in the stomach with my lack of mobile control and crazy arms.  That someone turned out to be the first boyfriend I had from sixth form.  The first boyfriend Elise ever stole from me.  Brett Wilson.

He was surprised that I was in London.  Elise too, when I unfortunately told him.  He then "excused" himself (disappeared completely, the bastard), and went to (I assumed) go find Elise for another snog fest.

I was cheesed off, so I headed back to the bar to see my sister eating some bloke's face.  Disgusted, I left.  Without my jacket.  I was cold, smashed and singing, trying to find my way home.  I made there, and hour and a half later.

I had to smash the window in the back door with the heel of one of my boots because I left my bleeding jacket at the club.  With my keys. 

Anyroad, I staggered over to the stairs, looked up, felt dizzy and then crashed on the floor, where Bert found me in the morning when he sobered up enough to enable himself to unlock the front door.  We sat around the shop all day, wearing bug-eyed sunglasses, smoking, vaguely trying to avoid talking about last night and wondering where the hell Elise was. 

"I remembered why hate clubbing so much."

"Why's that?"

"I...I don't remember."

I hadn't been out clubbing for at least... well... a week. But it felt like much longer, really.

I put on a mini skirt- not as mini as Bert The Tranny's, but that's another story- and a tube top and an unhealthy amount of body glitter. I also spritzed myself with some fruity-smelling body spray and popped a mint in my mouth. I took a couple shots with Elle (who was already quite drunk by this time anyway) before heading to the nearest dance club.

Entrance is everything. I'm sure our entrance would have been more impressive if the club's entrance wasn't filled with fog from a sodding fog machine on full blast. All three of us were coughing and hacking as we entered the place. As the American kids would say, the place was "hoppin'".

A disco ball threw spots of light on the walls and crowded dance floors. A number of different strobe lights were going on and off, on and off, enough to make an epileptic have a series of violent seizures. Pulsing techno music blasted from every angle of the room and you could feel every beat travel from your ears and into your veins. Dance music was like an infectious disease, taking over your whole body for several hours before moving on to the next victim. The place smelled of spilled beer, sweat and hormones.

Needless to say, I was in my element.

While Bert and Elle went to the bar to get pissed, I made my way to the centre of the dance floor to dance about like a loon. There was a cute guy with bleached blond hair and a goatee in the midst of the crowd, bouncing around to the music.

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"Hey," I said, grooving my way closer to him.

"Oh," he said with a chuckle. "Hello."

I pulled out all the stops, using my usual tricks to interest him: the hands-through-the-hair, the you-fancy-me-and-I-know-it smile, the come-hither eyes.

And baby, it worked.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he finally asked.

Bedroom eyes. "Sure."

He bought me a shot of tequila and we ended up talking for a while at the bar, yelling over the music. His name was Tim and he was a comic book artist.

"So, Tim," I said, throwing back another shot. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Me? No. There was this woman I lived with for a long time but..." He shrugged. "It's over now. Actually, right now I live with-"

I didn't care. He was cute, available and I was piss drunk. I grabbed him by the shirt collar and kissed him passionately. He tasted like Twiglets- and I didn't even care.

The next morning, I was in an unfamiliar bed. Not to say that Elle is right about me being a tart or anythin', but I've been in this situation a few times before.

I was alone in this unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar bedroom. It was decorated with comic book art and there was a poster of Buffy The Vampire Slayer on the wall.

The bedroom door opened and I quickly pulled the covers over myself. Why does being naked always have to be so awkward for the human race?

"Tim?" said the woman at the door. She spotted me and looked embarrassed. "Oh, hi. I was looking for Tim. I'm-I'm sorry."

She closed the door again, not seeming too concerned that I was there.

Thank God Elle felt bad for me. With her blessing (and my promise to attend a SAA meeting tomorrow), I went back to bed, a bottle of very cheap wine under my arm. It had been quite a long time since Elle had sympathized with me. The last time she had shown any sort of understanding towards me was when...

Well, I can't actually remember when that was. But that just proves my point. It's like she's got a sodding gherkin thrust up her backside 24/7. It's such an unattractive quality. The poor girl just needs a good shag (or 12). Maybe she and that guy across the street can get stinking drunk and give it a go.

Oh dear Jesus. Horrible image in my head.

Elle came upstairs about an hour later. I had been busy staring at the wall with a wine bottle in hand when she found me.

"Elise? I need to go out for a minute," she said slowly, as if I had a learning disability or something. "Can you go downstairs? Tend the shop. You don't have to do anything, just make sure nobody comes in and steals anything, alright?"

I grunted in agreement and she helped me down the stairs. They seriously seemed like they'd become steeper and smaller since earlier that morning.

With Elle gone and the shop in my more-than-capable hands, I sat at the desk at the back of the store and looked around. I rang up Tom's bitch lovely girlfriend and left a little message on their machine.

"Hello Trish, it's Elise. Just thought I'd call and thank Tom for last night's shag-athon. Anyway, byeeeeeeee."

Ha. Ha! Hahahahahahaha. Ha. If I have to be miserable, than so shall they. HA!

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It was then that Klingon Guy came into the store, his small dark eyes scanning the book shelves. He smiled politely at me and came over to the desk. He spotted the near-empty bottle of wine on the desk and raised his eyebrows at me.

"Oh, God. Not another one," he said quietly.

Ah! It speaks English!

"Wot?!" I said, grabbing the bottle and taking another swig. I was depressed. Recently dumped. Living with my sister. I was more than deserving to be completely smashed.

"Nothing," he said. "Are you Elle Whyte?"

"God no!" I snorted with laughter. "I'm 'er sister, Elise. Who a'you?"

"Well, I'm Manny. I work with Bernard at Black Books." He shrugged. "Well, I hope to anyway. It's my first day. I'm on my lunch break right now but I thought I'd pop in and-"

I blinked at him. "That is a fascinatin' story, Mister Klingon. You should, like, save it and tell i' a' par'ies or summing. Yeah?"

Manny wrinkled his nose and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Well, I-"

"My God," I said. "You really are the strangest-looking person I've ever met. Tell me, does fungus grow on you?"

"No!"

I snorted. "Shame. You could be in, like, a text book or summing." I took another swig. "You men. What is your problem anyway?" I finished off the bottle. "Bastards."

"Well, you're obviously not in the mood to chat, so I'll just be going."

"Yeah!" I yelled after him. "Go! Get on then!"

Before he could leave, Elle showed up at the door... and right behind her was Trish, looking about ready to commit murder. 

Every thing just seems to get better and better.

I got up this morning to find Elise in the kitchen, cradling a bottle of wine.  She loooked terrible.  More so then usual after something has pierced her little bubble of - lovely.

Her hair stuck out at all different angles; her mascara had run down her face (and was still there); her eyes were red and puffy and her skin had gone all blotchy like it does whenever she appears out of nowhere in the middle of the night after something has gone wrong with her man friends.

"I hate men.  All of them," she mumbled with her eyes closed, as I walked by.

"Even Da?" I asked, pulling bread out of the box.

"N-noooo..." she replied slowly.  "He doesn't hate me.  Or use me." 

After I popped a slice of bread into the toaster I sat down at the table across from her.  She squinted her eyes at me.

"Why are you here Elise?"

"Thought I'd come in early, yeh?"  I studied her face as she squirmed in her seat.

"Why are you really here Elise?"  She began sniffling.

"Mark found out that-that Tom and I sle-slept together a month a-ago," she sobbed, hugging the bottle.  "Mark won't have me now, and Tom has - he ha-has a g-girlfriend!"  She began bawling, making her mascara (or what was left of it) to run down her face some more.  I waited until she calmed down a bit before continuing.

"I suppose you haven't gone to any SAA meeting in a while, have you?"

"N-n-no; I thought I could h-h-handle it m'self," she whispered, wiping her eyes.

"Cold turkey, eh?  Cor, Elise.  You just can't do it that way."

"I know."

I got up and jammed up my toast before sitting back down.

"Where are you staying now?"

"Upstairs, in-in the spare room."

Shite.

"Fine. You know what you're doing today then?  You're going to find out when the next SAA meeting is and you're going to go to it, Elise.  You need help, luv.  I'll even take you to the meeting m'self."

I really did feel bad for her.

I also didn't tell her that someone had replied to my advert about the spare room. 

I kind of forgot to tell her about the advert too.  Double Shite.

Before noon, I took a stroll over to enemy territory.  Yes, I went to Black Books.

I walked into the shop undetected for the most part.  That Fran woman was talking to some dirty looking bloke who was sitting at a desk by a curtain, smoking and reading.  In the shop.  Such freedom.  Elise won't let me smoke in the shop.

Anyroad, as soon as I looked around the dingy little hole, I hid inbetween the shelves, trying to see if this Bernard was around, by cleverly picking up a book and pretending to read it. 

But then I heard Fran saying, "Oh! Bernard!  Bernard!  Look, there she is!"

To my slight dismay, the dirty man was apparently Bernard.

"Wha?  Who?" he replied.

"The girl from across the street, Bernard!  The one who owns the new bookshop!"

"Where is she?  Which one?"

"There, Bernard!  Keep your voice down!"  I then heard the chair roll out a bit and then some heavy footsteps, as I quickly went back to pretending to read the book.

"You!  You book-bartering harlot!  Yes you!" I turned around, expecting him to be right behind me, but instead he was accosting an old lady wearing a hat with flaps.  Fran ran up behind him and tried to drag him away.

"No, Bernard, not her!"

"But you said - !"

"Not her, her!"

Bollocks.  Why me?

He stomped over, grabbed my arm and turned me around to face him.

"You!  Whatever I said to Flaps over there - that!" he shouted in my face.  He reeked of fag smoke and wine.  To top it all off, he was Irish.  Not that that really matters, Elise and I are part Irish anyroad.

"Book-bartering harlot, am I, you raging, mental drunk?!"

"OUT!  Get out!" he said as he grabbed the book from my hands and smacked my arm with it.  I ran to the door and then, well, to put it plainly, I called him a "jam headed prat."  Not sure why. 

Nevertheless, I ran back across the street to the shop, bumping into some kind of hippie on the way in.  Hippies give me the creeps.  London's full of them too. 

To be continued...