23 posts tagged “manny”

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.

Bert’s gone crying off to his mum, or something, while Elise went trouncing off, most likely to entice and tease Manny, while I’m stuck in the bleeding shop, nursing, yet again, another hangover.

Elise was curious as to what was going on over at Black Books; people seem to be swarming over there like…like things that swarm.  I told Elise I had no interest in whatever mad scheme Bernard and the Bearded Blunder were up to.

I was sitting at my desk, trying to make a Fizzy-Good, when I heard someone whisper in front of me.

“Excuse me?”

“What?! What do you want?” I asked, looking up to see some girl standing in front of me, clutching a book about that really crap 60’s band, the Beatles.  She looked like the type who would enjoy that rubbish.  Her purse had badges and pins on it, saying “Vote environment!” and “Bring back the Beatles!”  Americans, honestly.

 “How much is this?” the girl asked.  I threw my arms up in defence; every time she opened her mouth a flash of blinding light shot out, endangering my already slightly precarious vision.

“Stop! Stop talking!” I yelled, waving my arms.  I reached down blindly, felt for the desk drawer and pulled out my sunglasses.  As I put them on, I replied, “Why do want to buy that?  It’s crap.”

“I-I like the Beatles?” she replied, this time the flashes of light reflected off the sunglasses and no into my eyes.  Braces.  What kind of orthodontic sadist thinks these things up?

“Of course you do,” I replied dryly, “all Americans like really crap bands.”  I grabbed the book from her and thumbed through it.

“Actually, I’m Canadian,” she replied, trying to open her mouth as little as possible, finally cluing in that her mouth was causing my mincers great pain. 

I stopped. 

Canadian?  Don’t they all live in igloos or something?

I blinked.  “Ahh…5 quid.”  As she dug her money out, I tried to make small talk.  “So how long does it actually take to make an igloo?”  She narrowed her eyes at me as she handed over the money.  “Must really be a pain, having to use dog sleds and all to get from place to place, yeh?”

“I’m not from Alaska,” she snorted, taking the book from my outstretched hand, and turning away.  So is Alaska now part of Canada?  I thought it belonged to the Soviets.  

As soon as the Canadian left, I was back to being bored out of my skull.  No one was in the shop.  And I mean no one. 

So, naturally, curiosity got the better of me.

I grabbed Bert’s opera glasses off the desk and went over to squat by the front windows, next to the door.  I putting them up to my face, I realized I could see a whole lot better, especially after I took the sunglasses off.  My head stopped hurting too.

Anyroad, that doesn’t matter.  What I saw mattered and it bothered me greatly.  There were people, lots of people, in Bernard’s shop, sitting around, reading books, drinking from mugs and milling about.  Manny was also standing in a box, talking to Elise, but that just furthers my point about Manny being completely mad.  And about Elise leading him on.

I was just about to get up and go over myself, when the door opened, hit my arse and sent me sprawling onto the floor.

“What ar’you doin’?” grumbled a voice I instantly knew.  Pushing myself off the floor, I straightened up, so see Bernard, wearing a label that said “Bern” on his lapel, surrounded by a couple gold star stickers, like the ones children get for doing something good, like fetching the paper, or not peeing on the carpet.

“I was looking for something,” I replied, dusting myself off.  He watched me before reaching out and grabbing the opera glasses from my hand.

“What’s dis then?” he asked, looking the glasses over.

“Opera glasses,” I replied, trying to take them from him.  He put them up to his eyes and said, “What were you using d’em for?”

“Going to the opera?” I replied, hoping he’d just drop the subject. 

“I didn’t t’ink you were so high class,” he replied, spinning around to look out the window.  “What opera?  Black Books, featuring a genius and a beard?” He threw the glasses to me.

“Actually that’s a soap,” I replied coolly.  He frowned and was about to say some nasty retort, when Elise popped through the door, exclaiming, “Elle!  I’ve got an idea – oh!  What are you doing here?”

Bernard scowled at Elise.  Then in a high pitched voice, he replied, “I t’ought I’d come over for a book and a cup of coffee.”  And he added a ridiculous giggle before pushing Elise aside and shuffling out the door.

I looked at Elise, raising an eyebrow, I asked, “What was that all about?”

Ten cent whore. Ten cent whore!
What a prick. I've only ever shagged someone for money one time in college... Well, when I stayed with my friend who went to college. I never actually went... I needed money for a cab and this guy I met on campus offered me a hundred quid for a go in his car.
It seemed so weird though... He seemed a bit old to be a college student. Apparently the college professor look is in with students too.
Wait...

Anyway, I'm so glad that Bert is not the father of my child... because now I hate the sodding trannie. Can't believe his entire act was spent making fun of Elle and I. (And he did my model walk all wrong.) Elle gave him a good beating with the broom the next morning but I'm still angry with him anyway.

Something's going on over at Black Books. While Elle was sleeping at her desk his afternoon, I popped over there for a few minutes- the place, I tell you, was packed! There were customers sitting at tables, drinking coffee and eating snacks while reading their books. Classical music was playing from somewhere. Bernard had a name tag ("Bern", it said) on his lapel- and did not looked pleased, per usual. Somebody was literally being eaten by a bright green sofa nearby. Manny, looking proud as a peach, was standing at a podium, his chest hair in full view. It was a bit gross, to be honest.

A short girl in a denim jacket was standing by the door, reading a thick book about Henry VIII. She smiled as me when I came in and went back to her book. I raised an eyebrow at her.

"You're in my way," I said. Why is a 12-year-old in a book shop and not in school anyway?
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said in an American accent.
"Pfft," I said. "Americans."
"Actually I'm Canadian," she said in a mousy little voice. "I'm from Nova Scotia."
I just blinked at her. "I don't care." Actually, I don't even know where that is...

I walked over to Manny's podium. His proud smile faltered a little bit when I approached. I guess he was still a bit upset over the him-being-in-love-with-me-but-me-not-feeling-that-way-in-the-least thing that happened ages ago.
Honestly. People need to grow up.

"What is going on here?" I asked.
"We're improving the shop," Manny exclaimed. "Competing with the big chain stores."
Bernard strolled over, his hands in his pockets. "This whole ting is crap, Manny. It's a waste of time."
Manny crossed his arms over his (ape-like) chest. "We've tripled our weekly profits in just one day. This is good for business!"
"Profits shmofits," Bernard said. He looked at me. "And what are you doing in here?!"
"I thought I'd come over," I glanced at Manny, "for a book... and a cup of coffee."
Manny beamed at this.
"You work at a book shop. Why would you come here for a book? That's-that's dumb!" Bernard seemed really irritated by this.
"Your shop has an ambience that Whyte Books doesn't have." I smiled cutely up at him.
Bernard snarled at me and stormed out of the store. I looked back at Manny.
"The shop looks nice, Manny." I batted my eyelashes at him. "Good work."
His entire face went red.

Elise was driving me absolutely mental with her moaning and complaining.

I hurtled out of the shop the second she looked away from the stacks where I was shoving in left-over copies of Tempocalypse.  I dodged several elderly women and practically jumped through Bernard’s door.

“’Ere now, what’s all this?” some bloke demanded, turning round in a chair that was placed in front of a blackboard, which Manny and Bernard where standing on either side of.

They completely caught me off guard.

“Oh!  Didn’t know you were still…ahhh…,” I started.  I was trying to figure out what Manny and Bernard where mouthing at me.  They kept waggling their hands at the door while the lardy bloke waited for an answer.  He turned back around and Bernard and Manny pretended to be gazing at their nails.

“’Oo’s she, then?” the lardy bloke asked.  Manny and Bernard were lost for words.

“Ah, oh , no one,” I replied, trying to be casual, figuring that the lardy bloke must be the ex-con they were teaching to read. 

He was giving me the once over. 

“Right!  She’s no one!” Bernard exclaimed.  Manny started miming a throat slitting at me while the lardy one had his back turned on them.

“What’s she doing here?  Does she know…?” the bloke asked, slightly menacingly.

“I know nothing, nothing at all,” I replied.  “Bernard?  One minute of your precious time?”  Bernard practically skipped across the room to the door, pushing me out with him, shutting the door behind him.

“Excellent, good plan.  We’ll get a taxi and go to…to…wherever people who are running away go!” he exclaimed.

“Running away?”

“Yes!  Manny doesn’t need t’umbs!  I do!  And…and…,” Bernard was frantic.

“Ahh…I was just wondering if you wanted to go to that thing tonight,” I said.  Bernard frowned.

“I t’ought…he has to be able to read or he’ll be chewing on my ear at parties!” Bernard moaned.

“So that’s a no?”

“Yes!  I mean…no, it’s a no!”  He ran his hand through his hair.  “I’m going to die in the next 24 hours and all you care about are singing trannies.”

“Why doesn’t Manny just call his mate, Gus, then?”  Bernard was about to answer when the ex-con stuck his head out the door and asked, “Are you gonna be much longer?”

“No, no!  Just saying…goodbye…?” Bernard answered, panicking.  He grabbed my forearm and turned me towards the street.

“She’s not your ladyfriend, then?” Danny the con asked.

“No, no, just some bird that lives across the street.  Right?” Bernard hissed at me.  I nodded and smiled stupidly at Danny.

And then Danny made this really odd sound.  Slightly high-pitched and insane.  He was laughing.  Or giggling, I couldn’t tell the difference.

Bernard pushed me off towards my shop, which I ran to without looking back.  I slammed the door behind and bolted it, then ran to bolt the other door and to lock the windows.

“What’s gotten into you?” Elise demanded.  “We have to go in a few minutes.”

So we headed out into the cold night.  After it took Elise an hour to tart up for the occasion.

A tranny was already telling some very lame jokes and singing, by the time we got there and slid into a booth in the back.

It took ages for Bert to come on.

While we were waiting, Elise downed several shots of tequila while scanning the crowd.

“Ohmygod,” she gasped.

“Wot?”

“There’s Father Chris, from SAA!” she practically shouted in my ear as she manoeuvred me in front of her.

All I saw was some lardy bloke in a dark suit waddle towards as just as the MC announced Bert’s name.

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.

The heat.

Oh bloody hell, the heat.

 Bert has decided that “we” need to get “in shape,” which translates into, Bert gained some weight this winter and doesn’t fit into most of his frocks anymore.  So he’s gone and signed us up for tennis lessons.  In the middle of a sodding heat wave.  But the most humiliating part of it (apart from the fact that Elise and I already know how to play tennis) is that he bought us matching tennis frocks.

To top it off, the thing under the sink has stolen my racket.  The rotten bugger.

So, knowing that Bernard kept an assortment of junk in his garden, I headed over to Black Books while Elise and Bert were getting ready to go for our first lesson.

As I bounded into his shop (I was feeling oddly excited), Bernard was sitting at his desk, watching all the customers of the feminine sort intently.  Manny was standing in front of the large thermometer, muttering to himself.

“Bernard,” I called from the door, before plunging into the sea of customers.  He looked up at the sound of his name.  His eyes narrowed when I got to his desk.  “Can I borrow your tennis racket?”

“What’s dat?  What is dat t’ing you’re wearing?” he demanded.  I frowned and put my hands on my hips.  He sounded angry.  What’s his problem now?

“It’s tennis frock, if you must know.”

“Why are you wearing it?  You’re not allowed!” he said, trying to cover his eyes.  “Mustn’t stare, mustn’t stare,” he muttered to himself.

“It’s not that bad!” I replied.  I thought the frock was a little annoying, but I was pretty sure that it didn’t look horrendous on me. 

With his eyes still covered, Bernard asked, “What do you need a tennis racket for?”

“I’m making spaghetti,” I replied.  He uncovered his eyes and stared at me.  I rolled my eyes.  “Can I borrow it or not?”

“No.  I don’t have one,” he answered, opening the nearest book and holding it up in front of his face.  I reached out and pulled the book down. His eyes looked really weird.  Not like, hangover-weird, or Bernard-weird, but genuinely weird.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“No – yes, I’m fine!” he exclaimed, pulling the book out of my hand and holding it up in front of his face.  I was about to say something when Manny grabbed my shoulder and practically shouted in my face, “Is it suppose to go up to 88 today?!  What if it hits 88 today?”

“You’ll be fine, Manny,” I said, prying his sweaty fingers off my shoulder.  I fished four pounds out of my pocket and handed it to him.  “Go buy some ice cream, it’ll cool you down.”

“Yes, cool.  Cool, brrrrrr,” Manny said to himself, as he headed out back. 

Bernard still had the book in front of his face, peeking around every couple of seconds, as I decided it was a good time to leave.

“Bye, Bernard,” I called as I headed to the door.

“Yes!  Good!  Go play your tennis with your fancy tranny man!” he shouted from behind the book.   Shaking my head, I left the shop and headed back over to where Bert and Elise were hiding in the shadows, trying to stay out of the sun.

“Ready?” Bert asked, excitedly. 

Let’s be honest, if Venus Williams was a man in a frock, that’s what Bert looked like.  He was even wearing a wig.  I don’t mind his cross-dressing tendencies, but this was just kind of odd.

After taking the Underground to our destination, we met our tennis instructor, Leo, the Tennis God.  Elise was practically tripping over herself to make him notice her.  She even forced her own racket upon me when he offered to go get me one.

I swear the heat is making everyone potty.  I’ve been watching men like I’m Elise, or something worse.  They’re driving me insane; the way they smell, the way they smile… stop brain, stop!

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.  

Elise has quite the imagination.

 After being all huffy-like with me for calling her “Shagapatra,” she started telling the most unbelievable lies.

“You’ll never guess who was at that meeting!” she exclaimed, breaking our peaceable silence.

“Who?” I asked, amusing her.

“Jude Law!  He was there going on and on about his children’s nanny.  He’s like some kind of perverted Nanny-nymphomaniac,” she rambled. 

“Elise, if you kept telling porkies like that, we’ll be able to roast them on spits and live off them for the rest of our lives,” I replied.  And who the sodding hell is Jude Law?  But she wasn’t paying attention to me.  Again.

“And…and there was a dirty old vicar there!  I told you, didn’t I?!”

When we got back, the shop was locked and Bert was nowhere to be seen.  Once again, we were forced to break and enter our own shop.

“We really should think about getting a spare set of keys,” said Elise as she opened the door, after climbing in the window.  I pushed past her and, because Karma is a cold, hard bitch, I tripped over a box of books.  But not just any books, it was that Blue Sands book that I asked Bert to put out earlier today.

“Bleeding tranny,” I muttered, picking up a few of the books.  “What’s the point?  Bert’ll lose them and you give them away at some swinger key party.”  Elise looked thoughtful.

“Do they still have those?” she asked.

“You don’t, you’re on the road to recovery.”  She rolled her eyes at me as she picked something off the table.

“Oh look, Bert left us a note.”

“And what’s it say?” I asked, throwing the books into the shop from the kitchen.

“It reads, Dear Elle, I love you.  Let Elise shag your boyfriend and run away to join the circus with me – watch it!”  I threw one of the sodding books at her. 

“What does it really say?”

“It says he’s over at Bernard’s with Manny.”

“Wot?!”   

We ran across the street to make sure Bert hadn’t crossed over to the dark side.  But he hadn’t.  Manny and Bert both looked quite excited to see both of us.

“You have to hear this, it’s brilliant!” Bert exclaimed, as he pushed us into the couch.  Manny was sitting at Fran’s piano smiling like a child.  I was about ask something but forgot completely when Manny began playing.  It was… well, it was quite brilliant.  The kind of thing you hear in concert halls.

The next day, I went round to Theo’s to tell him all about it.  He was quite interested in it, but then he started asking about Bernard again.  Bert had said something about Theo and these questions the other day.  Bert decided that Theo could possibly be another Ben.

“Why are you always on about Bernard?” The words exploded from my mouth.  Theo looked up from where he was chopping vegetables.  He looked surprised actually.  Then he started smiling.  “Wot?  What is it?” I demanded.

“You,” he chuckled.  I didn’t think I was being funny.  “You’re actually forming full sentences.”

“Wot?!”

“And you think I’m gay.”  I was a little surprised that he worked it out that fast.

“Wot?  No I don’t,” I said, trying to pretend not to know what he was talking about.  “Well, why do you keep asking about him?”

“Because you keep talking about him; and it doesn’t help to know the enemy, he replied, tossing things into a pot.

“Enemy?  Wot on earth are you talking about?” I exclaimed.  Theo went on to explain that if I talked about Bernard so much, he could possibly be competition.  As if.  When I got home later on, I ran into Bernard and that tart from the café.  And Bert and Manny as they were headed off to the pub.  They’ve been quite chummy lately.

So I spent the night playing drinking games with Lady Shagalot.

“Oh, oh, you’ll never guess who I ran into outside,” I said, as Elise downed her 20^th shot of tequila.

“The mole people, coming up from the sewers,” she replied.

“No, no…I saw them outside of the Tesco,” I said before downing two shots of rum because I mentioned a supermarche.  “I saw Bernard’s new girlfriend.”  Elise became suddenly interested.

“And wot’s she like?”

“Oh, oh you know the type.  The clingy wet kind, and they’re all “Oh, hello, hi” and hanging off of some bloke’s arm being wet and drippy.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Whatever, s’not like I actually care.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Stop that.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Who’s that person you said was at your meeting…oh that bloke who was in that Michael Caine remake…?”

“Jude Law.”

“And that’s five shots of whiskey for you,” I said, ending the endless string of mmmhmm’s and making Elise look sick. She hates whiskey. That’ll teach her.

It’s quite terrible when you play a drinking game with rules that change constantly.  Gran and her mad old friends taught us how to play, which, in a way, really isn’t playing at all.

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?"

I'm home! Home, at last!

...That reminds me. Why the bugger did I come home? Nobody 'round here thinks I'm fabulous 'er anythin'. 'Cept for Manny, of course. But from what Bert has told me, Elle took care of that mess quite rightly.

Right now, she's off with some Theo guy. Knowing her, she made the bloke up. Elle doesn't bloody go on dates. She sits with Bert, drinks, says mean things and reads... all the whole pretending she doesn't have a ting for Bernard Black. Oh, I know she does. She's practically the female version of that Irish coot. What could she possibly see in him- besides herself? Now, I'm sure there is some Froydian explaination for her attraction- but I'm too lazy to look it up.

Anyway, Machester was fab. When I wasn't drinking and dancing in all the gay clubs in the city, I was busy grooving with some fab footie players. I am not ashamed to say that I didn't shag the same person twice.

Ah, Manchester. Where a person's dreams can really come true.

Oh, and another thing: I couldn't help but notice that all my clothes are a little stretched out. I knew I should have taken everything with me. It's bad enough Bert uses my makeup all the time. Now my skirts don't even fit me!

Elle is in a rather funny mood. Apparently this Theo chap is quite attractive. But her mood turned sour as soon as I brought up the whole Manny thing.

"You are going back to SAA meetings!" she exclaimed, pointing her finger in my face.

"But I-I-I-I'm fine! Really! I can control myself!" I snapped. "I don't have an addiction anymore!"

"That's a lie," Elle stated, matter-of-factly. "Name the last 3 guys you shagged in Manchester."

"Fine," I said. "The last guy was named Mike Watt. He's an arms expert and is trying to join the army."

"That's one." Elle crossed her arms over her chest. "Two more."

"And the guy before Mike was... er... uh..."

"Right," Elle snapped. "Monday afternoon. You. SAA meeting- or I'll tell Manny what you had me do."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, sister," she said, flatly. "I would." 

Tom came by, a few minutes after Elle left on her "date" and Bert left for... something. I'm not even sure where he went. Tom explained to me that he had accidently grabbed Elle's ass the other day, thinking it was me. He still doesn't seem to understand that I'm very annoyed with him.

To make my point as clear as possible, I didn't even kiss him as we shagged on top of Elle's desk.