I was relatively new to London, my lungs had only a thin coating of smog on them and the prospect of using public transport was still exciting and appealing. I had just collected my first pay packet which bought with it much more than financial reward, it also kept the cravings for a Varsity (a pub in Derby) pint and a wriggle at Saddlers ( a club in Derby) at bay, as stepping away from five years of the Derby circuit is the equivalent of a heroin addict going cold turkey. Anyway, I couldn't of contained my smile that Friday evening, it was stamped onto my face like that of a horse shoe on a foal. One had hardly stepped foot outside of the office when my mind was racing, 'What shall my first purchase be?', 'Should I go out for dinner?', 'Will I get that tattoo of an eye patch on my face?'; all these questions but no answers.
I scuttled towards the bus stop in similar fashion to a crab on a beach full of pebbles; the only difference being I was not walking sideways. I remember there was a sweet smell in the air that evening, reminiscent of the sticky sweet smell you get at carnivals. As I inhaled, the air danced over my tongue like a Russian ballerina leaving behind pattern of sugary footprints. My eyes closed, blocking out the other senses to heighten the taste. Toffee apple? Strawberry lace? My granddads fingers after he'd eaten a Werthers Original? The one thing I could be sure of was that it reminded me of happier times. It was at that moment half of my body bounced backwards. My eyes opened like the recoil of a tape measure. My face flushed red, realising I had skipped but 30 metres with my eyes closed. Who did I hit? Before me was a blurry silhouette, stood with hands on hips. I rubbed my eyes with my hands as apposed to my knees or feet and raised my head once more.
The silhouette reappeared but with greater definition. The curvature of the body suggested this was either a scaled down version of Hulk Hogan or a well built female. My mouth opened if only for a split second before I closed it again immediately; the last thing I wanted to do was blurt out a feeble apology. Still unsure of whom was before me I reached out my hand to grab theirs. At first it seemed soft to touch but there was also a certain harshness. The best way to describe it dear reader, is to imagine stroking a cheese grater which has been tightly wrapped in silk.
"What the fuck you doing you prick?" a females voice rang out. My eyes danced around her face whilst I tried to think of something to say.
"I... Je...!" I croaked, my tongue refusing to move. Instead just lying there like a seal who had been kicked in the head by a gazelle.
"Wanker" the voice blared again, this time retracted her hand from mine. I stood there motionless...
for what seemed an eternity but was probably more a few seconds; but vital seconds they proved to be as in that very short time a cloud had slid in front of that glorious sun allowing me to loosen my squint.
I took a short sharp breath.
Of all the 7,512,400 people in London who should I bump into but 'that woman off the telly', Michaela Strachan"I'm awfully sorry young lady" I jerked remembering celebrities hated being treated any different to humans, "I haven't the faintest idea what I was just doing"
"You fucking cunt" she retorted, "You could of knocked my head off!"
"Yet again I'm truly sorry, you see I've just been given my first pay..."
"Fuck off" she interjected, and with that barged past me using her well maintained blonde hair as a whip to my face.
I stood there, again motionless. Shocked. Belittled. Humiliated. My mind tried to scramble something of a reply.
"How about a drink as a gesture of good will?" I spewed. "I know of a place that serves a glorious Pimms."
She stopped halfway through her walk cycle, one leg hovering in the air so she resembled a cardboard cutout of Heather Mills. She turned slowly.
"I suppose I could do with a drink"
I waited till she was next to me and threw my hand over the back of her shoulders in similar fashion to that of injured comrades in war, or that of a lad with one arm throwing a scarf over him on a windy day...
There was a spark between us immediately, some sort of sexual chemistry attracted to each other like two electro-magnets.
One pitcher of Pimms quickly turned into four. With each gulp I remembered to maintain some decorum and not reveal I knew her identity. However, as the nights sky was over us like the lining of a Gary Glitter jacket sooner than I'd of liked we had to make our own paths back to where we were initially headed.
"I have a small confession" I whispered into her ear, smelling her neck as she toyed with the cocktail stick she had kept from the bar to pick out the fruit.
"I feel as close to you as I imagine I would do to a partner of 40 years!" I breathed slowly into her ear, nibbling the lobe in a playful manner.
"Would it at all be possible to have your number?" I said whilst sliding my hand down the back of her dusty jeans...
"Certainly" she tickled back.
I withdrew my phone and placed it into her chest, slowly running it down her body and into her pocket.
"Put your digits in there" I said with a huge curly smile.
"What about my name?" she replied, "We don't know each others names!"
I giggled, twisting my foot into the ground like a bashful school girl.
"I know yours... Michaela"
She froze. The glint in her eyes quickly faded like that of potassium nitrate in a small dish of water.
"MICHAELA?" She barked, "I'M TERRY NUTKINS YOU PRICK"
