21 posts tagged “fran”
"Hey Elle," Elise yelled half-way across the self.
"Wot?" I replied, hardly bothering to look up at her from the book I was trying to read. She bounded over to my desk and plopped herself into the chair next to me.
"I've been thinking..." she started, propping her elbows up on the desk, while resting her chin on her knuckles.
"That's dangerous to your health."
"... and I believe I've decided what to do with the rest of the money you gave me for Chrimbo," she finished, barely even taking notice that I had insulted her.
She still hasn't spent all the damn money?
I sighed heavily, slammed my book shut and plucked a cigarette out of the open package on the desk.
"An' wot's that?" I asked, leaning forward as she lit the ciggy for me.
"We'll go on holiday! The three of us! No customers, no creatures, no... no competition; no nothing," she replied, looking hard at me for a facial response. She didn't get one. "Anyways, I've been looking at websites and visiting travelling agencies..."
"What about the shop?" I asked suddenly, surprising myself a little.
"Oh, we could get Penny to look after it or something. Anyways..."
"Ah, yes, Penny," I replied, uncertainly.
Who in the name of Beezlebub's shorts is Penny?
Ten minutes later, Elise was showing me pamphlets of holiday destinations, while I was still trying to think of who the hell Penny was.
"This place here would be perfect! See here, it says there's a beach, a jungle and the only English bookshop...," she began to say, when Bert burst in the front door, startling customers with his flashy tracksuit.
"You'll never believe who's in my yoga class!" he blurted, sitting himself down daintily in the chair in front of the desk.
He didn't even give me time to reply. Lousy bugger. "Fran!" he exclaimed, slapping his hands down on the desktop, making Elise, myself and the computer moniter jump at the same time. He glanced between the two of us, waiting for a reply.
"Ahh, that's g-," was all Elise got out before the walking disco ball leant over the desk and plucked the cigarette right out of my mouth and dropped it into my glass of wine.
"What the HELL is wrong with you?!" I yelled, grabbing the glass.
"Smoking and drinking is really bad for you. Your chakras are all over the place, Elle! You need to relax and..."
"Your chakras are to be hanging out your nose if you try that again!" I growled at him. He looked slightly startled, but that didn't stop him from continuing his preaching.
"Penny and Eva said that...," he began, but I had had it.
"Just who the bleedin' hell is Penny?!" I shouted, thumping the glass back down on the desk, sloshing ashy wine all over my book and some of Elise's pamphlets.
"Penny's his girlfriend," Elise informed me, gathering up the pamphlets that weren't soggy and attempting to salvage the ones that were.
"Girlfriend?" I echoed.
"Yeh," Bert replied, smoothing out the front of his tracksuit. "She's a bartender at the club I work at."
"Oooooo, Penny. Penny. Penny Penny Henny."
"Come on Elle, you're being childish."
"Am not."
"I think if you tried yoga, you may be able to see the lighter side of life," Bert stated, smugly.
"I'm not trying your yogi," I retorted, picking up my book and shaking it.
"Yo-ga."
"That neither."
"Let me get this straight," Inspector O'Hoolihan said in a thick Irish accent, peering at us all from under his hat. "This guy ran in, put a knife to 'dis here guy's troate, 'dis here lady hit 'im over d'head wid dis here fryin' pan and dats how 'e died."
Elle, Bert, Fran and I all exchanged looks. "Yes, sir."
Maybe the irony was lost on everyone else, but I found it quite amusing that this member of England's Scotland Yard was Irish.
"And wot about 'deese here marks on 'is nipples? Wot is that all aboot?" He raised an eyebrow, specifically at Bert.
"...Why do you look at me when you say that?" Bert retorted.
I cleared my throat. "I used to have this friend who would pinch his nipples. He did it all the time. I guess it's a kind of confidence builder." I nodded wisely and pretended I knew exactly what I was talking about- I didn't.
Fran, who was quite drunk, asked if she could leave and take her car back across the street. Inspector O'Hoolihan nodded and she stumbled off.
After the Inspector and the rest of the policemen (and the coroner) left, I slumped down at the kitchen table and put my head down. "Guys. Let's not do that again."
Bert rested his face in his palm. "Agreed." His eyes lowered to his own chest. "Excuse me, I have to go do something."
"Where's he going?" Elle asked me, leaning against the counter.
"I'm almost positive he's going to his room to pinch his nipples."
"Wouldn't doubt it."
I rolled my head to the side. "So, Elle, you still want to have a bistro, even though it might cause us to kill somebody again?"
Elle dug around in the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. "I was saving this for after we had our grand opening... but this is as good a time as any." She guzzled from the bottle and slid it across the kitchen table to me.
I looked at the label. "Wow. Fifteen quid." I nodded in approval. "So fancy." I took a few big gulps.
And then a few more. And then Elle had several more.
I woke up the next morning in a puddle of my own vomit... but at least it was in my home and not prison.
Completely satisfied that that little shock of juice should have at least jolted the health inspector, I was getting out of the car when I heard Elise scream.
I ran inside in time to see the Health Inspector holding one of my kitchen knives to Bert's throat. So maybe it wasn't Elise who screamed...?
"Wot the SODDING HELL- ?!" I shouted, but was interrupted by the HI. Honestly I expected him to start grunting like Frankenstein's monster, but I guess that was the second surprise I had that night.
"I want you to empty your till and give me all the money you've got and anything else that might fetch a hefty price, or I'll slit your girlfriend's pretty little neck," he said, his voice low and dangerous as a sligtly demented smile played on his face. Actually, it was completely demented.
And to improve to situation even better, Elise started laughing hysterically.
"Fat chance you've got! There isn't a cent in that till!" she snorted. I tried to give her a you're-definitely-not helping look, but that made her laugh even more.
The HI started to look nervous.
"Right, wot's it gona be, give me the money, or your friend here get's it." Bert stopped whimpering for a brief second to add his two cents worth.
"Just for the record, in case you do decide to kill me, I am a bloke."
"Bert. Not helping," I replied. Bert shot me pained look, as the HI shook him and held the blade closer to his neck.
And then the crashing in the shop started. I suddenly remembered that Bernard had implied that he would actually come to see what we would put up for "competetancy" and thought that is was him and Manny making their path of destruction to the kitchen.
"Bernard, don't come in here!" I yelled. I made a move for the doorway, but the HI actually pressed the blade against Bert's neck, who was making a brave effort not to cry.
The answer that came back surprised me. I was really starting to hate, I mean really hate, surprises.
"Bernard's not fucking well here!" yelled Fran, appearing at the doorway. "And I need my car!" We all turned to stare at her. "Oo's 'e?" she demanded, before what was going on registered.
Everything after that happened really quickly. Honestly, I didn't know Fran could move as fast as she did.
She suddenly bent down, grabbed my discarded pan and hit the Health Inspector over the head before he could react (probably a side effect from being brought back from the dead). After he and Bert went down, Fran was about to scream for her car, so I just kind of pointed dumbly out the back door. She ran out and we were left with a dead guy.
Again.
While Bert was crying on the floor, I called Scotland Yard to tell them that we had just been attacked in our book shop cum bistro.
Well, wouldn’t you be mad?
I mean, who carries a bleeding flask full of water, for Christ’s sake?
Anyroad, I stormed out of the shop, thinking desperately what I could do. Who dies from a blow to the back of the head, anyways? He was probably just in a coma, I kept telling myself.
I ran into Black's Books to see if Fran was there. And she was. Standing next to Manny. Who was standing in a box that had sign over it, which read, "Information Point."
"Fran!" I exclaimed, tripping and crashing around chairs and tables. "Fran! I need to borrow your car!" Fran and Manny looked at in between large swigs of wine, straight from the bottle. "What are you doing?"
"Bernard wants empty wine bottles to stick candles in," Manny explained.
"Can't you buy those?" I asked, momentarily forgetting about the crisis in my kitchen.
"What do need my car for?" Fran asked, slightly frowning.
"Long story," I replied. "Do you have jump cables?" I asked, having a stroke of genius suddenly hit me, but nothing registered on Fran's face.
"The ones that look like alligators?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah, yeah," Fran replied, nodding her head. "You're not going to be long - "
"No, no. Just...give keys," I answered huriedly, sticking my hand out expectantly. As soon as Fran had them out of her pocket, I swiped them in mid-air and ran back out of the shop to her car out front.
I not going to lie and say that I'm a good driver, because I'm not. And the amount of wine I had before hand probably wasn't helping. Let's just say there aren't any dustbins left in the back street that don't have dents in them.
I managed to get the car at least near our garden. I dragged the cables out of the boot, through our gate and in through the kitchen door, just in time to see Bert pounding numbers furiously on his mobile.
"Wot you doin'?" I asked, dragging the cables to our comatose friend on the floor. Bert looked up in surprise, fumbled with his mobile and drop it on the floor. He looked at me a swallowed soundly.
I glared at him before saying, "Give us a hand." Bert glanced between me, the Health Inspector and the shop door. "C'mon," I urged him, grabbing a hold of the man's legs, just above his ankles.
Bert managed to help me put him up on the kitchen table. He's not very strong. You would think he was from the looks of his "muscle tone," but Bert's really quite pathetic. Elise and I have carried men twice as heavy as that beanpole between us, and not had one problem.
After I had hooked the cables up to the car battery, I came back inside, getting ready to attach the other end of the cables to the Health Inspector's index fingers, when Elise appearred at the shop doorway, holding a duffle bag in each hand.
"Where're you off to?" I asked.
"Whadd'ya doin'?" she demaned.
You know, I'm sure if it worked for Dr. Frankenstein with lightning, it'll work the same for us. Just with more power.
That's it. We're all going to prison for murder. I'm going to be put in a cell with some large, butch lesbionic-type woman named "Chuck" and she's going to make me her plaything. Poor Bert. He looks like a woman half the time as it is! He won't last a second in prison!
And it's all Elle's fault.
"Great," I said, putting a hand on my jutted out hip. "Just great. You've just gone and ruined my day."
Bert frowned. "Uhhh... I think that guy's day is going a little worse... as he's dead now."
Elle just rolled her eyes. "He's not dead. See?" She propped him up against the stove and waved his hand around like some kind of ventriloquist. She even dared make a Monty Python reference, using a different voice and speaking from the corner of her mouth. "I'm not yet dead! I think I'll go for a walk!"
I glared at her. "Bugger off, Elle. That's not even funny."
Bert snickered. "...Well, it was a bit funny-"
I gave him a stern look. He stopped snickering.
"What are we going to do?" I asked, glancing from Elle to Bert. "What are we going to do?!"
Elle grinned. "Stuff him into Bernard's trash bin and call the police?"
Possibly...
"No!" I exclaimed. "That would make things worse, not better."
Elle knelt down to get a closer look at our newly-bludgeoned corpse friend. Then, without notice, she reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a wallet, a silver flask and a pack of fags. She tossed the fags at me, gave the wallet to Bert and kept the flask for herself.
She pointed at me. "You. Go smoke. You always think better when you're calmed down." She nodded at Bert. "You go give Fran some cash, as we'll likely need to use her new car for a few minutes."
"...Well," he said, "what are you going to do with the flask?"
"Get stinking pissed." She unscrewed the cap and took a swig. She winced as the taste hit the bank of her throat. "Water!" she exclaimed. "Are you fucking kidding me?!?!" She grabbed the wallet back from Bert, grabbed a tenner, threw the wallet on the floor and stormed out. I can only assume she was heading to the pub down the street.
I was on the verge of tears. I'd never been involved in a murder before... Well, once before but I didn't feel so guilty the last time. This man was innocent, just doing his job. And Elle killed him.
...Maybe Bert and I wouldn't have to go to prison for something Elle did...?
No. She's your sister. You can't just turn her in!
Bert grabbed a fag from me, rummaged around in the cupboard for some matches and lit up. I think he thought having a fag might calm his nerves. He ended up puking into the sink.
"Bert, honey, this would not be a good time to take up smoking for the first time."
He wiped his mouth. "I believe you're right."
I lit up and blew smoke up into the air above my head. "Bert," I said. "What are we going to do?"
"We have to turn ourselves in. Or, rather, Elle," he said. "It's the only way."
Perhaps he had a point.
Bert is being such a git.
So I fired him.
And then re-hired him after Elise failed to show up to work after spending time with her real boyfriend, Leo.
I swear, every time we go to our tennis lessons, Bert attempts to maim Leo in some sort of fashion. And he’s stopped wearing his frock to tennis. He practically tries to knock Leo out with the ball when we play doubles.
Men. Honestly.
The heat wave seemed like it would never end. I was going boy-crazy the entire time. Customers kept coming in looking for something to take on holiday with them and I had to get rid of 200 copies of “Tempocalypse” that Bert ordered. I kept trying to flirt with all the men who came in, but then they’d look over at the shop couch and see Bert there, snoring away.
“Get UP!” I yelled at him one day, trying to pull him off the couch.
“Whhhhhyyyyyy?” he whined.
“Men think you’re my boyfriend!” I exclaimed. Then the stupid idiot started grinning. So I slapped him. “Go get me a lolly from down the street!” That got him out. He complained, but he went.
Then the hottest day of the heat wave came on.
I was trying to sleep. Even though it was night, it was still around 87 degrees. Manny was off eating a car or something, Fran had told me, due to his “Dave’s Syndrome.” Like I said, it was still bloody well hot. I was tossing and turning all night, trying to stay cool. I even tried lying under my bed, but the dust bunnies tried to attack me, so I had to get out pronto.
Around half two in the morning, something starting bouncing off my window. I opened it, only to get hit on the forehead with a chocolate floret.
“OY! Wot’s the big idea?!” I yelled down at the street. And then I saw him standing down in the middle of the street, with an accordion attached to him. Smiling like the drunken fool he was. I sighed. “Bernard, wot you doin’?” I called down to him.
“I’ve come to serenade you!” he yelled, stretching the accordion, making it wheeze. “You’re my summer girl! Just – just listen!”
And then he sang some really crap song that I couldn’t quite understand. When he was done, he yelled, “Just throw your head back and laugh!”
“Why?”
“Because you’re my summer girl! You’re supposed to laugh and dance around springs and bathe in waterfalls…! And eat the custard pie with a fork, because that’s what auntie Nibbs did when she wasn’t eating cream!”
“I don’t get it!”
“You’re not supposed to! My autumn girl needs to be the smart one, not you! You just need to frolic around Carnaby Street barefoot, swinging sunflowers and singing!”
“You’re daft!” I yelled, getting ready to shut the window.
“No, no! Wait! I’ve got another song for you!” he shouted frantically.
I spent the rest of the morning listening to songs that he made up about summer and cows, until he passed out on the sidewalk around 6 o’clock.
A few weeks after the heat wave, Fran was telling her about the job that Manny got her with his connections. (Surprising, I know, that Manny has connections.) She told us about this bloke who plays with his trouser snake appendums at work. In public. Bert made a comment about it, and I got him. I caught the twat playing with his last week. Blokes must have some kind of obsession with them; I mean you don’t catch birds standing around on the Underground platforms, playing with their boobs.
I guess Manny and Bernard have taken up a new hobby: teaching ex-con’s how to read. Bernard’s been wailing about his thumbs for the last 12 hours. They gave us a copy of this book the thug they’re teaching.
“‘I kept Harry’s left thumb as a keepsake, attaching it to my keychain. I suck on it at night sometimes, thinking of what a great pal Harry was, or used to be,’” I read out loud, as Bernard sat curled up on Auntie Madge’s couch. Bert was gagging in the background. “This is really sick. He’s mental,” I commented, turning the book over to read the back cover.
“I know! Teaching him letters! Letters!” Bernard exclaimed. He held his hands out in front of his face, flexing his thumbs. “I like my thumbs! They turn door knobs and…do other t’ings!”
Since I fired Bert again, he went and got himself another job, which was actually his “Big Secret” from the beginning of the New Year. He auditioned at some crap comedy club and got a job there, working on the weekends. He made Elise and I go check it out last week with him.
We spent most of the time hiding in a corner booth, trying not to attract too much attention to ourselves while Bert sat on the edge of his seat, completely engulfed in what was going on onstage. Elise and I were afraid of attracting the attentions of some of the dirty old men there.
I think Bert’s so keen to go there because of one of the bar girls. It’s great he’s got a job, but he doesn’t need to drag us along. Which he is. Tomorrow night.
Elise is panicking because Leo has to go away for the weekend to Edinburgh to play. And Tom is having a “slumber party” that she’s not invited to, ever since she snubbed him by mentioning Leo. And Bernard and Manny are due to be thumbless that day, so I’m out of an escape route.
Bert’s so very excited about it. He’s having a nervy b trying to figure out what he’ll where tomorrow night. He has too much to choose from, but whores will have their trinkets, I suppose.
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.
She never came back from the loo.
No big surprise there. She took off with the Tennis God.
And Bert made me wait with him for two hours, waiting for Elise to come back.
I was staring at the ground, mourning the loss of the chance I had with the Tennis God, the second Elise flicked her hair, when Bert said, “Perhaps she fell in?”
“And popped out of the Tennis Go- Leo’s toilet,” I replied, getting up.
“We could go get her!” he exclaimed, jumping up off the bench.
“That’s the daftest thing I’ve heard all – where you goin’?” I said, as Bert began to stride away from me.
Which probably isn’t an easy thing to do when you’re a 6’2” man in 2 inch heels. I think Bert was born in heels.
I followed Bert to the club’s reception desk, where he was asking about Leo’s residence. I went to grab my flask out of my cleverly sewn pocket, but I remembered it was empty. It truly was a brilliant idea. What else is easily portably and not awkward to have sitting in a pocket of a dress? My flask! I filled it with water and it was like a cool pack on my leg the entire time we were riding the tubes!
Anyroad, the receptionist gave Bert a strange look and asked, “This is personal information.”
Bert was stuttering and panicking when I said, “He’s a friend. He took my sister to his place and told us to meet him there later.” She glanced between the two of us and hesitated. “Listen sister, do you know who this is?” I asked her. She shook her head slowly, eyebrows knit. “This is Bertram O’Malley, the biggest sports agent in the UK. We need to head over to Leo’s for some big-shot talk.” I put my hand to the side of my mouth like I was going to tell her a secret, as I leant over the counter. “Leo got a little excited and forgot to tell us where he lived. And don’t worry about O’Malley here, he gets a little paranoid in public, you know, all these…sporty-types, jumping out of dustbins, claiming they can play cricket and footy and all that crap.”
She either bought it, or thought we were clinically insane and thought is was better if we killed Leo and not her. She looked it up for us. Apparently Leo lives around Notting Hill somewhere.
“Oh, mate, I don’t think they let your type around there,” I said to Bert, trying to dissuade him from going. He’s been ridiculously protective of Elise since spring.
“Transvestites?” he asked, confused. I looked at him.
“Yes, Bert, transvestites,” I said. “Let’s just go home and wait for her, alright?”
“Yeh, alright.”
Later that afternoon, Fran was round pestering us about the walls in her flat.
“If you don’t believe me, you can come over and watch them with me!” she exclaimed, sitting on the desk as Bert tried to make a missing persons poster.
“No, Elle and I are going to stay in and wait for Elise to come home, aren’t we?” he said, looking over at me. I was lying on the shop couch, with 3 fans pointed down at me on full blast.
“Cor, I dunno; walls, waiting for my sister, maybe I’ll even go watch women or the thermometer with Bernard or Manny. It’s such a big decision,” I retorted. Bert made a face and went back to the computer.
“You should stay in a wait for your sister,” he commented.
“I’m not her keeper.”
“Can I stay with you lot? I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in ages…I just lay there all sticky and sweaty and hot…,” Fran began to say, but Bert was out of the chair and pulling Fran towards the door.
“No, go! And take your sexy words with you!” he exclaimed, pushing her out the door. I opened an eye.
“What’s wrong, Berty? Fran leading you on now?” I asked, amused.
“Shadd’up.”
Some time after that I must of fell asleep because the next thing I knew, Bert was shaking me hissing, “Get up! She’s coming home!”
“Whaaaa…who?” I sat up in the humid dark.
“Elise!” he hissed.
“Aww who cares? She’s 25 years old! I wanna sleep!” I growled. I threw myself back down on the couch, as Bert sat back down at the desk, turning the lamp off.
Seconds later the front door creaked open. I turned over to watch what Bert was going to do, curiosity getting the better of me. I could hear Elise shuffling across the floor, when Bert turned the lamp on suddenly.
Elise had that deer-in-the-headlights look on her face when the light hit her face.
“Where have you been?” Bert demanded.
Elise didn’t say anything. I looked at him.
“Jesus, Bert,” I started, rubbing my face in tiredly, “what are you? The Curfew Nazi?”
While Elle (who was quite pissed about the me-and-Theo thing... and the fact that her gorgy boyfriend just CAME OUT) and Bert (who was being quite nice about the whole me-being-preggers things... and the it-might-be-Tom's-or-Bert's thing) waited in the kitchen, I squatted awkwardly with the pregnancy test between my legs, yet again. This time, my bladder was full, as I'd just downed two litres of orange juice.
Never thought orange juice would be so awful to drink without vodka in it...
I leaned against the bathroom wall while the plastic, pee-covered stick did whatever it is that pregnancy tests do. I was reminded of that American movie with the teenage girl who got pregnant after having sex just once.
Poor thing. Can't believe she didn't win the Oscar for that movie.
After two and a half minutes, I slowly approached the counter and looked down at the stick. One blue stripe stared back at me, mocking me. I immediately burst into tears.
Elle peered in. "So?!"
"I'VE GOT A BLUE STRRI-I-IIIIPE!!!" I wailed. I sunk down to the floor and sobbed into the top of my knees. "This can't be happening!! I'm not ready to be a mum! I've got my whole life ahead of me!! What am I going to do?!?"
Bert pushed the door open and saw me on the floor. He frowned. "What if we got married?"
I stared at him, my vision blurry from the tears. "Wot?"
"Elle said that Tom wouldn't be..." He hesitated. "...the good dad. And who knows, it's quite possible that it's mine, you know." He shrugged. "I mean, we did shag..." He swallowed, a shadow of fear passing quickly over his face. "What if... I married... you?"
I almost considered it. Good GOD, I almost considered it.
Elle plucked the pregger-ancy test from the garbage and read the back. "Two blue stripes means you're pregnant. One stripe means you're not." She looked down at me. "Stop crying. No need to marry Bert this time."
I have never been so relieved over anything in my life. I just looked at Bert and smiled. "Let's not shag again, alright?"
Bert grinned. I think he was more relieved than I was. "Agreed."
I celebrated that evening by getting pissed at the pub with Elle, Bert, Manny, Fran and Bernard. Elle, fresh from her recent break-up, was back to being uncomfortably chummy with Bernard. I was happy to see Manny flirting with the waitress (who seemed quite uninterested and repulsed by his drunken advances). I've been told a few times that it can be quite hard to get over me, but I was glad to see that he was on his way.
Bert was still feeling a little awkward about what had happened earlier and he made an early exit. He said something about going to some comedy thing later and meeting some friends.
As for Fran, she was pissed before we even got to the pub. She ended up snoring away, her head down on the table for most of the evening.
I called Tom from the pub. I told him about my pregnancy scare and told him that there was no baby in sight. He picked me up in his car and we had a celebratory shag in the back seat.
Life without a bun in the oven is quite nice, really.
Bernard is living in Jealous City!
I don't know why he's got his knickers all in a knot. It's my life, so I'll do what I please.
And Theo quite pleases me, hahaHA!
The world seems to have gone topsy-turvy: Nifty Gifty is bankrupt, Manny's keeping his distance, Fran has loads of money, Bert's cheering up a bit, Bernard's being more ridiculous than usual and all Elise does is complain and smoke a lot lately. And I have a boyfriend! Who cooks! Instead of going to over-priced, funny smelling restaurants, he cooks for me at his flat! (His flatmates are interesting...I'm pretty sure even Bert would call them poofs).
Speaking of Bert, he keeps promising to tell us what his *big* secret is. Bloody hell, I hope he's not pregnant. And I wish Elise would get about and do something, instead of scowling all the time. Just because I made her go to one little SAA meeting. "But'll be run by some dirty old vicar or something, you'll see!" she kept yelling at me.
As if.
Theo says he had to take one his mates to one of those meetings and that it really helped him. Theo so...grand. And fabulous. And everything else that's mushy and goopy and wonderful. I knew if I waited long enough the right bloke would come round for me.
He's a little strange though. Everytime I mention the shop, he asks me something about Bernard. It's like he has a crush on him or something, ahahaha...wait. Nah. It's not possible.
Bernard's raving mad anyways. And so is Fran. Why on earth would someone buy a grand piano, stow it in the dingiest bookshop in all of London and pay some crazy old, blind Russian to teach you to play just because they think they should have talent because they like music and have lots of CD's. Tell me the logic behind that, would you?
I took Elise to her first SAA meeting the other afternoon. I had to walk her there to make sure she actually went and didn't bugger off somewhere and come home pretending she had gone, like the first seven times I tried. Anyroad, after making sure she actually went in the building, I sauntered over to the cafe across the road to wait. And guess who was there. Bernard Black the Green One, and his sidekick, Chewbacca.
"Are you following me?" he yelled at me.
"Why would I want to do that?"
"I t'ink you are!"
"I think you're daft, but regardless of the situation, I think that anyway." I sat down as far away from the raving Irish and Ming the Merciless as I could. Bernard glared at me for at least a quarter hour. And then he started hitting on (if you could call it that at all) some bookworm tart sitting in the corner, practically waiting for him to say something. He did after tripping over himself with stupidity. I got tired of the entire scene and left to go see if Elise was out yet. But she wasn't. I didn't feel much like going back into the cafe and the shops around didn't particularily interest me, so I watched the pigeons for a while.
Pigeons are really bothersome. And stupid. So I chased them around the square, managing to kick a few in the process. It was fairly productive. Haha. Stupid, stupid pigeons. Soon after Elise caming running down the stairs, full tilt into a prison break.
"Alright there Shagapatra?"
