Predictably, Uni Boy came round. Equally predictably, we had a great time. And even more predictably, the next day he decided that we shouldn’t see each other anymore.
When he left my place, he was full of a cold, but otherwise happy. So I was a bit surprised when, later in the afternoon, he messaged me and started ranting about how I wasn’t helping him to stop seeing me (ummm … hello personal responsibility?) and how whenever I offered him anything I always wanted something in exchange (not strictly true, but if that’s how you feel… ).
It’s lucky the whole exchange was online. I should have hated to see him burst a blood vessel in real life.
The whole argument was so inflated and illogical that I was actually worried about him. Mindful of how things can be misinterpreted online, I tried to call. But he hung up on me. Twice.
So that, pretty much, is that. I can be upset about something once, but getting upset a second time would just be dumb. Still, the encounter wasn’t a complete waste of time: it was fun (mostly) and Uni Boy made me feel sexy again. So wherever he’s sulking right now, I’d like to thank him for that. He’s a good guy and I’m sure he’ll make some young lady very happy.
Anyway, even if all my other powers of attraction are failing me, it’s good to know that my prowess as a nutter magnet remains undiminished.
It’s 8.30am and I’m coming out of the house just as the weekly rubbish collection is in full swing. I’m not sure whether I see him or hear him first, but there’s a guy stood on the pavement, giving the binmen a full military salute and belting out some unrecognisable tune at top volume.
The guy is dirty. Dirty in a way that you rarely see outside of a coal mine. Although he’s obviously tanned, his skin has a grey layer of grime that says he has many unwashed days behind him. Still, his face radiates joy and he’s beaming delightedly as he warbles away.
As soon as he sees me, he turns his attention in my direction, and starts on a new crowd-pleaser.
“Feel so good … I feel so fine! Love that little lady always on my mind …”
Wow. Black Sabbath before 9am? I’m impressed.
He continues his high-volume serenade as he crosses the street, and even though he’s now just inches away from me, he’s still caterwauling like Freddy Mercury at Madison Square Gardens. I stand there and smile placidly at him, mostly because I have no idea what else to do.
As he wails on, there’s an awkward moment where I wonder how long I’ll have to stay here and whether it would be rude to leave mid-performance. Fortunately, he reaches the end of the verse, performs a flourishing bow, turns on his heel and leaves.
Yep, my nutter appeal remains intact. Satisfied, I climb on my bike and cycle towards work. I’m still contemplating his performance as I queue for my morning espresso.
“George Osborne is a complete tosser!”
I’m dragged from my reverie by the unsolicited exclamation of the guy ahead of me in the queue.
“Mmmnnnfff?” I mutter, questioningly. “Why, what’s he done today?”
“Dunno,” comes the insouciant reply. “He’s just a tosser.”
“Ah,” I say, non-committally. “I see.”
Quirky Guy spins on his heel, and the conversation appears to be over. I raise my eyebrows quietly. 100% Nuttersville.
He spins on his heel once more, and we’re on again.
“I once knew a guy who went to school with George Osborne,” he says, in a slightly triumphant tone.
“I asked him why he didn’t beat his brains out in the playground … but he said he didn’t have any!”
Spin! goes the heel, and silence descends.
Really, I think, this town has more than its fair share of quirky characters. Far from feeling dejected, I should feel happy, if not delighted – no, flattered that I’m still bloody single.