Week 6 - A Flat For A Single Bloke

I told Pete that I needed to go back to the flat and see what was happening. He wasn’t convinced that this was a good idea, but he said it was my call. Sometime I was going to have to go back there so now was as good a time as any.
In no time at all we were entering the private Court Yard and I was looking towards my flat. Becky always called it an apartment but to me it was a flat. Although a very nice flat. The only reason we were leaving was because we had outgrown it. Well, Becky’s collection of shoes had outgrown it. What kind of state was I going to find the flat in? Would Becky be lying on the bed in tears? Would she be wearing her wedding undies? I told Pete to go and eventually he got the message that this was something I had to do alone. I stood as he drove off before walking towards the door of our ground floor flat.
For once I was unsure whether or not to knock or use my key. Normally I would use the key and shout “I am home dear” so that Becky would know it was me and it was quite safe. I expect mad axemen shout “I am home dear” when they break in.
Slight set back in my attempt to get in my flat because I realise that my key is actually still at my parent’s house. I was going to have to knock the door and see if Becky was inside. Do I want her to be inside? Yes, I do. I knock gently on the door and wait and wait and wait. Then I knock a bit louder and still there is no movement inside. The place looks deserted but I notice one of the windows is just slightly open with a two inch gap. I can open it completely and then possibly climb through into the kitchen but no idea what I might find in the sink the other side. At least I am very skinny so I manage to manoeuvre myself through the small window and get the top half of me through the gap. With my waist stuck in the window frame and my legs dangling outside I just hope nobody is passing by. It suddenly strikes me how tidy the kitchen looks. Is this really our kitchen even the kitchen roll dispenser looks neat and the tea towels are hanging straight from the rail on the door. Now Becky is not the kind of lady to keep the kitchen spotless. I considered the possibility that this wasn’t our flat, but soon worked out it was because of the deluxe unused dark green Kenwood Waffle Maker that I was just about to hit my head on. All too sudden my legs followed my body on to the pine fresh smelling stainless steel draining board. My hips twisted in a fashion that hips shouldn’t twist and a sharp pain shot down my left leg. Luckily a neatly folded pile of washing gave me a soft landing and I had successfully broken in to my own flat. Becky was nowhere to be seen. In fact there was no trace of Becky at all.
Walking around the flat everything was so tidy and everything that belonged to Becky, including the ornamental shoe rack that her aunt left her when she died two years ago, had disappeared. For once the floor was not full of shoes and the dining chairs not draped with handbags. There was no sign that a lady lived or ever had lived in that house. The bedroom looked totally bare with its lack of cosmetic potions. In fact the only item Becky had left was on the bed. Now I was ready for a real good cry because on the bed in a large clear polythene bag was a very lovely pure white wedding dress. On it was placed a note. It read “Jon, this is for you. I will never stop loving you xx”. I fell down on the bed and the tears just flooded out. I held the dress resisting the temptation to try it on as I cried and cried. As always my nose started to run and I could feel the snot running from my nose to my lips and then circulating my lips before dropping on my chin. I couldn’t stop the flood from both my eyes and my nose, but at least the wedding dress was protected by the polythene. As I lay on the bed I realised that Becky had obviously taken ownership of the duvet set as well as the duvet and pillows were bare. How I just wished Becky was inside this special dress. At least if I do find a new bride in the next six months I will have a dress for her and fifty pounds off the honeymoon.
For the next six and a half hours I laid on that bed clutching the white dress. The bed was soaked with my tears and my shirt was very very creased. The room was in darkness with only the reflection of the moon through the window offering any light. So what do I do now at 1am in the morning when I should be in bed with ‘my new wife’ in a four-poster bed in the Scottish capital? Life would go on and I know I will get over this, but what is the correct thing to do next? Should I contact my parents? Should I try and find Becky? Or should I just go to bed and try and sleep until things seem better? I think I will try the latter.

Next Week :  Back to normal?

Week 3 - Nice Day For A White Wedding

Chapter 2 - The Wedding Day


Somehow I slept through my alarm going off and Heart FM blaring out. When my Dad walked in carrying a tray, my old Aston Villa European Cup Winners Commemorative tray, with a cup of tea and two bacon sandwiches with tomato sauce on - it was nearly quarter to nine. My Dad was not one of life’s big thinkers, but he always had a smile and a habit of getting things right. Dad was a chef by trade who had retired last year. Even his bacon sandwiches were a delight to taste and could not be beaten. The crispiness of the bacon was always perfect. The cup of tea though was dreadful as he always made it far too week. He used a teabag in the mug instead of a teapot and insisted on using the same teabag to make at least four cups. Still I had no complaints and felt in need this morning of being treated like a child. Dad hinted that I would need to be getting up soon to prepare for my big day. He was going to pick up my Nan from the home at 9am and Mum was ironing my white shirt. Worrying, as ironing had never been her strong point but she liked to play the proper mother role although she was usually happiest when she was doing her voluntary work mucking out the donkeys at the local Donkey Sanctuary. It will make a change seeing her without her wellies on today and that silly plastic blue rain-hat on.

As I ate my breakfast I read the paper. My parents take ‘The Guardian’ and I was very disappointed about the Sport section in it. Should really be getting a move on, but knowing that a key member of the wedding party was going to be missing made me lack enthusiasm. My Mum started to push by saying, ‘the bathroom is free’. I suddenly realised that I had forgotten my Rightguard Double Protection aerosol spray. Perhaps my Dad had a deodorant I could use and hopefully it wouldn’t be Old Spice. Saturday 24th August 1996 was supposed to be one of the biggest days of my life when I married the most perfect girl I have ever met, but the chances of it being a happy day seemed remote. I check my phone for further messages but the last one simply said ‘Yes’. I wasn’t cross, but I just could tell that this one little word was going to ruin my day. Perhaps it was just nerves and Becky is at the moment putting on her sexy wedding undies. All I could do was act normally, well as normal as a Groom acts on his wedding day. Pete was due at 10am and the car would be coming at ten past. I could cancel the cars, but as I didn’t think I would get a refund what would the point be and anyway Becky might turn up. Her sister Jenny might force her up the aisle to prevent her twins being heartbroken at not being Bridesmaids. Perhaps it was Jenny who had put the idea of not marrying a Council Worker in her sister’s head.

As I stood in my parent’s shower, an extra feature that had been added since I moved out of the family home, I tried to have positive thoughts and tried to think that I was going to hear Becky say those vital words ‘I will’. My thoughts were interrupted by a shout from outside the Shower Room of an old lady. ‘Where is the blushing groom, I have got something for him?’, my Nan shouted out. I then heard my Mum say I was in the shower and then listened in fear as I could hear my Nan’s footsteps towards the door. Then my heart stopped as I heard the handle on the door being pulled down. It was with relief that I remembered I had put the latch across on the door. My Nan then banged loudly on the Shower Room door which what I thought must be her stick. Then shouted that she had a little something for me and that I hadn’t got anything she hadn’t seen before. Well, I think it has grown considerably since she last saw it. My Dad persuaded Nan that she needed to sit down and give me time to get ready.

After my long shower I managed to get back to my old bedroom to get ready for my big day. Still no more text messages so perhaps it was going to be alright. If she wasn’t going to turn up surely her sister would have been round gloating by now. I considered whether or not I should wear my lucky pants. They weren’t exactly sexy and were dark blue and could even be called Y-Fronts, but I had worn them at Wembley in March when the Villa had destroyed Leeds in the League Cup Final and then again to see England beat Scotland in June. Yes, I was wearing these pants when Gazza scored that goal. Of course, I conveniently forget that I also wore these pants when the Villa lost the FA Cup Semi Final to Liverpool, but they can’t always be lucky. To keep their lucky powers perhaps I won’t wear them today. Instead I will wear my brand new white jockey shorts purchased like my suit from M and S. My Mum had ironed a really nice crease down the back of my shirt. She’d tried so I thought I would just wear it. If I kept my jacket on nobody would see. It was just a pity about my lack of deodorant under the armpits. I gave them a sniff and they didn’t seem too unpleasant. Becky always smelt nice and the taste of her mouth was always lovely and slightly minty. With one black sock on I started to think more and more about Becky the lady who might just be my bride in ninety minutes time. Becky was just over five foot six and had a great body. Why she had fallen for me was a mystery. She had a very firm and shapely bottom that especially looked good in her black cycling shorts. Her legs are quite muscular and almost blemish free. The only imperfection, a two inch scar just below her left knee, where she fell on some glass in Brighton when she was eight. The base of her back was also a favourite part of mine as it is so smooth and soft. With my hand I could feel all the tiny soft hairs on it and it curved inwards. Becky has a brilliant figure, but if I am honest she has a bit of a wobbly stomach. You could pinch more than and inch but this was the only fat you would find on her perfectly toned body. She is beautiful and her breasts are the most magnificent I have ever had the pleasure of feeling. The day I first saw these boobs uncovered was Bonfire Night last year and it was a moment that I will never forget. They were just so round and perfectly sized. Many a time since I have wished that some of my fiends especially Pete could see Becky topless to show them how well I have done. Early in the year on holiday in Greece I was really disappointed that Becky had decided not to go topless, but I suppose it is also nice to think that only a few people have seen this magnificent chest and that I am one of them. Interestingly, my Nan had told me last Christmas that Becky had ‘great tits’. It was then that I began to think more about the future. What if Becky really didn’t show? Would I see those ‘great tits’ again? Would we still live together? Would we have to give back the presents? It was going to be a very difficult day and one I didn’t think I was ready to cope with. Had I really blown it with the lady I have been living with for the last four months and if so how was I ever going to win her back? Becky has quite a small neck and with her shoulder-length curly natural blonde hair it can be easily missed. She hates her chin and thinks it is a bit masculine. I never told her that Pete once called her ‘The daughter of Jimmy Hill’. She has lovely small lips that are great for kissing and a nose that just curls up a fraction. Becky’s blue eyes are now more enhanced because she wears tinted contact lenses an improvement on the old lady style small square glasses she used to wear.
Nan was looking very refined in her pale blue trouser suit with matching hat. My mum was trying to fasten a flower buttonhole on to my Nan but she seemed more interested in trying to find out where we were going for our honeymoon. She reminded me that she and my Granddad went to Matlock for their honeymoon. This surprised my Dad because she had always told him they couldn’t afford a honeymoon and didn’t go anywhere. A few minutes later Nan told my Mum that they had a brilliant honeymoon in Weston-Super-Mare, but hardly left the bedroom. I had booked for my honeymoon with Becky three nights at a five star hotel on Prince’s Street in Edinburgh. Being a true romantic I had arranged for a horse-driven carriage to take us from the airport to the hotel. Well, a taxi most of the way then horse driven carriage for the last mile. Edinburgh was special because that was where I proposed to Becky. We had been in Scotland and spent a day in the capital. Becky loved it and said that one day she would like to stay in one of those posh hotels in Princes Street. Perhaps if she knew what I was planning tonight she would change her mind and marry me. I thought it best not to tell my Nan the honeymoon location, or the fact that I might be jilted.
It felt funny wearing my suit. It was all a little bit too stiff and I couldn’t get comfortable. I had a look in the full-length mirror and when I stood about four foot away I could see all of me. Not bad, I looked quite smart and not as out of place in a suit as I thought. The creases were all in the right place and for once the trousers weren’t too short. During my school days I had spent most summer terms displaying bare legs as my trousers could not keep pace with my growing spurts. When I was fourteen I was thrown off the bus because I had a child’s bus-pass. The driver would not believe my age and I was upset at being called a liar. I was feeling slightly guilty now because may be I should suggest to my family that the day might not turn out quite like they expect. Am I lying to them? If they ask I’ll tell them the truth. I feel quite cheerful and still there was that small chance that Becky might turn up and the day might go really well. If she does turn up I think it is probably best never to mention the texts or any doubts she ever had unless she does.
Soon Pete arrived in a very cheerful and loud mood. He gave my Nan a great big smacking kiss on the lips. This provoked a ‘tut’ from my Dad and a , “that was worth putting my teeth in for” from my Nan. My mother just complimented Pete on looking handsome in his suit. He looked good but I felt he had deliberately left a few creases in his trousers so he didn’t look as smart as me. Pete was the automatic choice for best man because he had been my best mate since that first day at Secondary school. More than once he had come to my defence and ‘lamped’ somebody who had been unfair to me. There was so much more to Pete than his physique though because he was a really nice bloke. He could be caring and yet did the lad things so well. Like me he was football mad and since I had taken him to his first Villa game in 1982, a European Cup tie against FC Valor of Iceland when Peter Withe scored a hat-trick, he had been a Villa nut. He took to my Mum straight away as well calling her Mrs. S. My mum thought he was a really nice boy and told him he could always come round for tea. This was now eighteen years ago and it is difficult to remember a time when Pete wasn’t my best mate or round for his tea.
Pete asked me if there was anything he shouldn’t mention in his speech. I told him that there was nothing in my life I was really ashamed of so he could say what he wanted. So he said he could mention the incident with the Greek Belly Dancer in Amsterdam. Okay perhaps best not to mention that incident. Becky was aware of the part of my anatomy that flexible lady surprisingly grabbed during her dance when I was on Paul’s Stag Weekend in May, but I had forgotten to tell told her that we went back to see her again the next day. Perhaps Becky had now discovered this and that was why she wasn’t going to marry me. Pete asked if I was nervous and I had to say I wasn’t. This was true, why should I be nervous because I already knew what was going to happen. Pete admitted that he was very nervous and scared of messing things up. He asked me if I could keep the rings in my pocket because he would be scared about losing them. He also said he was worried about the chief bridesmaid because he didn’t think Jenny liked him. This was of course very true because Jenny had told Becky that she shouldn’t let Pete be my best man because he was so common and would mess it all up. Pete is one of the most honest people I know but Jenny doesn’t trust him and once was convinced when she mislaid her purse that Pete had taken it. This mistrust seems to stem from the fact that he wears an old denim jacket. Today, though, Pete was wearing a suit and looked smart, but still I don’t think Jenny is going to trust him. Pete then produced an unusual shaped object from his pocket wrapped in silver foil. He handed it to me and said that his mum had said he had to give it to me. Unwrapping it I was surprised to see it was a very old and rusty horse-shoe. It had a label attached to it saying, ‘Good luck, this was given to me at my second wedding’. A nice touch I thought even allowing for the fact she was now on marriage number four. In all of the years I have known Pete I have never met his mum or any of his step-fathers. Pete moved out of home when he was eighteen and has lived with his elder brother Adrian since then. So a gift from his mum was certainly unexpected. My parents thought it was a nice gesture but could we not put it down anywhere in their house. Perhaps it would bring me ‘good luck’ and the love of my life would meet me at the church today.

It was now time to leave the house of my birth and make the way with Pete to the church. We were going in Pete’s red Triumph Spitfire with the top off. My Dad, Mum and Nan were following in my Dad’s car behind. Pete had tried hard and put one claret and one blue ribbon across the bonnet. The sun was out so it was quite a pleasant drive although being so low down with long legs was not easy. Pete said he had got a spare comb so that I could tidy my hair up when we got there because it was going to get blown around. All the other drivers waved us by and gave us little smiles of encouragement on my big day. At one set of red traffic lights we stopped by a bus stop where there were two very pretty girls in surprisingly short skirts. Pete was visually flirting with them and they were blowing us kisses. For a moment I forgot I was on the way to my wedding. The lights turned to green but Pete was too busy smiling at the girls and didn’t notice. The moment was interrupted by my Dad papping his horn. The girls waved us off and Pete blew them a kiss. Radio One was playing, but in the open top car if was difficult to hear. I managed just to make out the DJ announcing a request from Pete to groom Jonathan in Lichfield. Pete shouts, ‘that’s for you Johno’. I had guessed and the song playing was not the most original choice, but it was a nice thought. We sang a long to those words ‘hey little sister, shotgun’. In the words of Billy Idol it was ‘a nice day for a white wedding..’. As the music blasted out Pete began to drive faster and faster. My Dad kept up for the first few minutes of the song but soon we lost him. It would be alright as he knew his way, but I knew he wouldn’t be pleased. Of course, he wouldn’t moan on my wedding day especially if I am going to be jilted.

Next Week - The big moment - will the groom be jilted

Week 1 - Pause and Rewind

Lying in a bed that is only five foot long, when you are over six foot tall and a twenty-nine year old man, sleeping is challenging, but when you add the fact that in less than ten hours time you will be getting married it becomes an impossibility.

Here I am in the bed that I used to sleep in when I was ten in the bedroom where my Action Men used to stimulate sex with the girl nextdoor’s Cindy dolls - which was difficult with their lack of genitals. So much has happened since those days and that burning summer of ’76. The girl next door now lives in New Zealand with a very muscular bloke named Clive and the Action Men are currently packed in a cardboard box in a Storage Unit near Walsall. The rubbery flexible fingers of the Action Men have not survived so well during the past two decades. Mind you I can talk, because my fringe has disappeared on to the top of my head and can now only be seen from above. As I lie in this small bed I try to think if any of my school mates are now as follicley challenged as me now they are approaching their 30’s.


According to my old digital alarm clock, which my Dad had specially got out of a box in the loft for me, it was now 02:14 so if I assume it takes 14 minutes to get to the marriage vows in the service this means that in just nine hours time my marital state will change from single to married. I think I am ready for this life change, but so many thoughts are going around my balding head including highlights of all my previous relationships. ‘All of’ means four and some people might think that calling the two weeks with Beverley Evans a relationship was pushing it. We did nearly share a kiss outside the ABC cinema in Walsall. Just wished she had mentioned her feelings for Karen Shelton earlier!

Susan Richardson was the first girl I ever experienced with an above average sized chest. I was sixteen and on my way to take my Chemistry O’Level when I first spoke to Susan. Why it took me so long I don’t know because we had shared a bus journey most mornings for over three months. The last four mornings she had even come and sat by me. That day I had my head in the Lett’s Chemistry revision Aids book revisiting chemical equations. Suddenly I felt Susan’s large chest, squashed into a red polo-neck sweater, push against my arm. With her gingery hair, perhaps red was maybe not the most discrete colour to wear, but she had chosen to sit by me. Looking around I saw a number of seats she could have chosen including a double to herself two rows in front. That was the time for conversation and with the summer holidays nearly on us I had nothing to lose. Conversion went well, Susan tested me on my Chemistry, she asked me out on a date and within three weeks I had my hands inside that very same red polo-necked sweater. As I was lying there on my side the morning of my wedding I spent time remembering how it felt to first touch the bosom of Susan Richardson. What would she be doing now; perhaps that large chest is now being shared by two twin baby boys? I have always had difficulty controlling my mind at night, but tonight it was totally out of control. What kind of changes will happen to my thoughts once I say “I do” or was it “I will”?

The great relationship with Susan fizzled out before I received my Chemistry O’level certificate, but it encouraged me to look for another relationship and within weeks I was dating Amanda. Now what was Amanda’s surname? I am sure it started with a ‘P’. Parker, Parson, Peacock…..no I can’t think of it. Was it Harrison? Amanda was tall, slim with very long straight brown hair. She was probably the most attractive girl I have ever been out with until Becky, who I was going to marry in just over eight hours time. I must try and get some sleep to look my best for the big day. Don’t really want to have big bags under my eyes on the wedding photographs. Wedding photographs, that is a really scary thought. I have yet to see a photograph of me when I don’t look like a weirdo with red eyes. The photographs will probably have Becky looking like a sensational bride with her perfect wavy blonde hair and curvy figure, standing next to this bloke who looks like an extra from the Adam’s Family.

Sutton Coldfield College of Technology and the A’level Sociology class in room 606 was the place where I, Jonathan Sadler, met Amanda. The class was full of strange looking hippy types apart from me and Amanda and from the very first lesson I wanted to get to know Amanda better. Being tall and skinny I sometimes looked a bit awkward and my clothes didn’t always look quite right. Even so I was determined to seduce the lovely Amanda. Within two weeks we were working on a project together on the behaviour of old people in public. I managed to make this last every lunch time for six days. We studied old people in Supermarkets, in restaurants and just in the street. Every day we talked more intimately and got closer. At the end I invited Amanda back to my house to write the project up.

It was in this very room just a few feet from where I was born that I first tried to kiss Amanda. I say ‘tried’ because she failed to notice the first time and I ended up kissing her hair. Undeterred though I went in again and soon I had moved her lips round to meet mine. Success, I had seduced the very attractive Amanda. We then started a relationship that lasted over a year. Although, sometimes Amanda seemed more concerned with checking her appearance in the nearest mirror than being with me, I was still honoured to have Amanda as my girlfriend. Looking back I never really thought it would last. Amanda was out of my league and always destined for a more hunky boyfriend. She was clever, but we often were on different wavelengths and did not really like each others friends, athough, Amanda often said she thought my friend Pete was quite hunky. Nobody has ever called me hunky. It was a Thursday evening in July just two weeks before my 18th birthday that I decided to finish things with Amanda. She had been the only girl I had slept with at that point, but still I didn’t feel close enough to her. I always felt that there was still another wall that I had to get through before I could find the true Amanda. I remember asking her what she wanted from our relationship and she said that she wanted somebody else. She then declared she had been seeing another bloke for the last month so we kissed passionately then unexpectedly made love for a final time on floor of my bedroom. Maybe it wasn’t ‘making love’ but it was the best sex we had. After we said goodbye that night we never saw each other again. I don’t even know if she also passed her Sociology A’Level.

Becky is even more attractive than Amanda and we are so on the same wavelength. Often I know what she is going to say and what she is thinking. We agree on so many subjects from politics to religion and our favourite colours for bathrooms. Becky also has a more shapely chest than Amanda although not as out of proportion to her body as the boobs of Susan were. My favourite part of Becky though is definitely her firm and rounded bottom that I love to touch at every opportunity. Perhaps I will have to resist that temptation later today when we are standing at the altar. I can’t wait to see the dress she will be wearing. All I know is that it is white and Becky says reveals her shoulders. She says that I will find it very sexy and that I will have to control myself and avoid any unexpected bulges in my trousers. Sounds a bit pervey but I am looking forward to seeing the underwear under the dress tomorrow night, I mean tonight now! A number of friends at my Stag Night told me not to expect any sex on my wedding night because it never happened for them because they were too drunk or tired after the big day. The image I have in my mind now of Becky in her wedding undies is very arousing.

I feel so lucky that Becky Holloway came into my life and even luckier that she is going to marry me. Perhaps the seduction of Amanda gave me the confidence to pursue a lady as gorgeous as Becky. The clock clicks over all the numbers to say 03:00. How I wished I was back in my little flat in Lichfield which I had shared with Becky for the last four months, but my parents wanted me here in the family home in Sutton Coldfield away from Becky for the night. Becky was at the flat with her older sister and chief bridesmaid Jenny. We were moving to a new house in Alrewas in two weeks time and our first joint mortgage. It had been a very stressful few months with buying houses and planning weddings. I can’t remember the last time the two of us just had a normal conversation which didn’t involve ‘The House’ or ‘The Wedding’. It was fun though, going to all though Show Houses when we were looking for a new home and I will never forget what we got up to in the bedroom of that Bryant Show House with its black furnishings. Everything just feels so right with Becky.
Hopefully Becky will be my final relationship and hopefully it will be a very long one. It would be ideal if we both had mega heart attacks whilst celebrating our seventy-fifth wedding anniversary. I am not quite sure if there is a name for the seventy-fifth one or even the seventieth. I would be one hundred and four when this event happens though and Becky a younger one hundred and three. We might have stopped our energetic love-making by then though. Perhaps we can buy a book on enjoying sex when you’re eighty-plus. Do old people start to get turned on by wrinkles and smell of wee when they get past eighty?

If Becky is my final relationship it means that Heather Shaw was my penultimate one. Heather was my obligatory University relationship and possibly the other girl I could have married. She was short with a short blonde hair and a medium build. It wasn’t an instant attraction and certainly not a relationship either of us planned. Something happened at a Friday night party in the second year of our Business Studies degree course at Liverpool University that still makes me smile when I think about it. I went to the party because Pete was staying with me for the weekend and he wanted to meet some real ‘student’ girls. Pete wasn’t thick, but there was never a chance of him going any further than A’Levels. He had started work as a builder just after I started university, but we had stayed close. Still we went to the Villa games together when I was back home and that weekend the mighty Aston Villa were playing at Everton. The party was a 70’s theme night, but Pete wasn’t going to dress up so we just went as ourselves and really stood out. Interestingly with Pete next to me I seemed to be attracting attention from girls in my classes that normally didn’t want to come near me including the legendary April who had caught my eye at the very first lecture. Now with this muscular builder she was behaving like my best mate. Even if she called me ‘Johnny’. Pete was impressed that a beautiful lady seemed so friendly with me, but it became obvious that she only had eyes for Pete and even Pete realised this when she asked if she could feel the muscle on his arm. Pete though is a very good friend and when he got the chance followed me to the gents to ask if anything was going on between me and April. I thought it was only girls that went to the loo in pairs and maybe this gave off the wrong signals because suddenly I was aware of a lad in a purple shirt with a big afro wig smiling at me. Something was not right about this, but I gave him a wave in case it was someone in one of my lectures that I couldn’t recognise. I told Pete the news he wanted to hear that April and I were not ‘really’ an item and that I wouldn’t mind if he made a move. Out came Pete’s black comb which he always kept in his right-hand jean pocket and he flicked it through his spikey blonde hair. He was then off back to where April was still holding his drink. Next time I saw Pete that night he gave me a thumbs up as he was examining April’s tonsils with his tongue.

What happened next to me was pretty strange and slightly worrying. The bloke in the purple shirt came over and started talking to me. He seemed pleasant enough but was standing worryingly close. I suppose with the loud music he had to stand close so we could hear each other. He said his name was Adrian and that he saw me and my friend go into the gents together. It was a strange conversation and I began to feel uncomfortable. With horror I suddenly realised I was being chatted up by a bloke! It was at this point that a short blonde girl from my Business Studies class came to my rescue. Heather just walked up to me and gave me a kiss on the lips and said, ‘Hey babe, have you been waiting long?’. Within seconds the distinctly unbutch Adrian made his excuses and left. I was stunned and quite pleased by the actions of this small lady. She explained that she could see I was having problems and knew that I wasn’t that kind of lad. For the first time we then chatted and chatted.

Next week : The unforgetable wedding day. Sign up now for weekly updates.