The older I get the more the realisation hits me that some of us in this life are destined to never find love. I mean okay, sure, statistically that should almost be an impossibility in a world of eight billion people. We must all have more than one potential soulmate with a number that big, it just stands to reason and yet, when it comes to Jake, my best mate of 33 years I'm seriously starting to have my reservations. The boy is a perpetual car crash just waiting to happen when it comes to matters of the heart. Truth be told our Jake was a late bloomer when it came to members of the opposite sex. He finally popped his cherry on a lads holiday to Mykonos at the age of 21 to a local girl by the name of Phanie Zervas who the lads quickly christened magnet for obvious reasons. Transpires we all missed a trick because apparently Zervas in Greek means hunter. Zeus, Aphrodite and the rest of em had already bestowed us with a gift from the God's which we missed entirely. Trust twenty lads from south of the river to be too thick to have known. I say that though, the only thing close to being Greek for us all growing up would have been a kebab and that's fucking Turkish anyway. Mind you the expression does go that it's all Greek to me so someone had a point didn't they? Come to think of it, with a name like hers, maybe she'd have been better off moving to Lesbos. Problem is you can't say things like that anymore, the world and his wife will be queuing up at the front door to cancel you in an instant. Apparently we all have to be politically correct nowadays, never know who might be listening in.
Fast forward to the present day and Jake's only gone and found himself shacked up with some stuck up brass called Dawn who's proper bleeding him dry. That's not very PC either I know but it's the truth. Fucking miserable cow, her general tone every time she opens her mouth makes everything she says sound like a complaint. I mean to be fair to her it usually is. Fucker don't half drone on as well when she gets going, I swear to God she doesn't even breathe between sentences, I've no idea how she does it. It's just moan, moan, moan, moan… I've told Jake she's taking fucking liberties with you pal but he gets the right hump and goes on the defensive. I swear it's because he's afraid no one better will come along. He tries to tell me she's not as bad as you make out. Not as fucking bad as I make out? Fuck me my pedigree chum, Himmler was more welcome to a bar mitzvah than your missus is on a night out. And don't you go running and telling her that cause we'll all be fucking dead if you do. That's not love, that's just mental torture. The British secret service should employ her as a way to crack prisoners during interrogations. Love is a two way street my son, not a one way street down to a dead end with no room to manoeuvre your way out and a mile of traffic behind made up of similar idiots all busy making the same mistake. Love is not having someone in your life who occasionally lets you get your willy wet or gives you time off for good behaviour to watch the big match but still insists you be back by half ten like you're 14 years old again and been given a curfew. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, that's what they say isn't it? Absence shouldn't bring about a collective sigh of relief from all your mates when she's not in tow. Honestly anytime we see Jake now we're all on edge in case she pops up like Paul Daniels from nowhere and goes surprise. It's like we're 12 years old again sparking up down the bottom of the school fields at break time desperately trying to get our fix in before the teachers came out carrying a mug of something hot. I'm going to come out of his relationship with PTSD and I'm not even in the sodding thing.
Some nights I wake up in a cold sweat, panicked at the thought of what happens if they ever decide to get married. I mean he's like my brother from another mother. I don't think I could ever be the best man, I mean I'm definitely not that good a liar. Maybe if I did her in and then copped to it straight away to the old bill, would that get me a reduced stretch at his majesty's pleasure? I could get time off for good behaviour somewhere down the line and be out in 12 to 15 years. Take one for the team, the boys will come and visit me and Jake will forgive me in time. Bit extreme I know but you've got to be able to take a bullet for someone you love haven't ya? At least if they get forensics in they can dust his forehead and prove her thumb print is on there. Every cloud and all that. They say you should surround yourself with people who'll tell you the truth and not what you want to hear. Well I can tell you in the here and now we've all told Jake to send her back to the factory he got her from. She's got a defect mate, needs a factory reset. Better off making love to your right hand Jake old pal even if it makes your wrist ache, at least your ears won't end up bleeding at the end of every night. I mean what do you two talk about? Politics? Current affairs? You're having a bubble son. What do you know about either politics or current affairs? Do me a favour.
Comments
Post a Comment