At Legless' request: The Hockling Competition
Our first date was the classic Italian meal. A few weeks later, he asked me out to a music festival (involving beer of course). It was the Orange Festival at the Quayside in Newcastle (a favourite romantic spot of mine). Moloko were headlining (as opposed to Malaka, which is Greek for “wanker”). It was a May “Bonk Haliday” and a beautiful one at that.

I was so attracted to this man, in every respect; physically, intellectually, emotionally. Our senses of humour were on the same (sick) wavelength, our tastes in art and music bleshed beautifully….. Best of all, we both had these interlocking body parts which were most compatible. Mmmmmm. He could make my clopper fizz with the slightest raise of an eyebrow.

As we strolled hand in hand over the Millenium Bridge, the perfection of the moment overwhelmed me. The sun was shining, my gash was frothing. My heart was filled with pixie dust and fluff; so ecstatically happy, I had a metaphorical coat hanger in my mouth.

We stopped on the bridge to lean over and smell the rank yuk of the River Tyne, and to count the dead bicycles in its depths. I’ve always been a soft romantic at heart, and suggested we play “Kate & Leo”. He was not familiar with this game.

“You know, that scene in Titanic, where he teaches her to hockle?”

“You want to spit in the river?”

“Oh, it’s more than just spitting – getting it right is an art! Let’s see who can zonk the furthest!”

Revving the phlegm in the back of my throat like a Harley Davison, I swung my head elegantly to the right and backwards, carefully calculating the angle of trajectory….. THDOOOOK! My spittle arced gracefully, twinkling in the afternoon sunshine. 12 feet, not bad.

His turn. PHOOOOT! 10 feet – fairly impressive for a beginner. We continued for a while, until our mouths could produce no more. Time to be sensible, and hunt for refreshment. Moloko were warming up and the smell of hotdogs beckoned. Fingers entwined, we made our way to the beer tent, me glowing like the Ready Brek kid, my heart all warm and fuzzy.

www.b3ta.com/questions/gooutwithme/post233433

*EDIT* His version is up there a bit ^
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 11:56, 6 replies)

that's delightful
especially "the sun was shining, my gash was frothing..."

a beautiful turn of phrase :-)
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:11, closed)

Erm...
dat's ma goil!

Classy as ever. I suppose I ought to post my version...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:12, closed)

It's a beautiful tale
It's got something for everyone in.
( Bazongaloid, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:14, closed)

"He could make my clopper fizz with the slightest raise of an eyebrow."
Tourettes, I have absolutely no idea how you do it. You can take a sentence like that and make it genuinely beautiful, in a way that no-one else could.

And the follow up?

"My heart was filled with pixie dust and fluff"

Altogether now "Awwwwwww!"
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:39, closed)

This wins!
Especially for "He could make my clopper fizz with the slightest raise of an eyebrow".

Nice to see both perspectives too! :)
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 14:05, closed)

^^what they said
I may also be a little jealous, 'cos I'd have drooled down my chin. Never did learn to spit properly.

For some reason, it wasn't on the timetable at my Swiss finishing school. Oh, okay, crap secondary.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Tue 2 Sep 2008, 14:31, closed)