One of the worst things
about having an ex is the memories of good times.

Twelve years ago, me and the ex went on our first ever holiday together, a week in sunny blackpool. We had a whale of a time, despite being on our own for a whole week. Usually we argued like cat and dog, but that week we had only one minor spat.

Around the end of the week, we had spotted on a poster that "Summer holiday" was playing at the winter gardens, and so I asked her if she'd like to go. She was overjoyed, thinking that I'd never go to see it as I hated musicals. So we went, and got seats in the third row.

Darren Day was meant to be in it but he wasn't that night for some reason, he'd probably murdered a prostitute or some such.

Isla Fisher smiled directly at me at the end. I still have to ask her if this was accidental or actually meant she loves me.

It was ok, I suppose, as musicals go. There was a bus in it, I seem to recall. So we left, called a taxi and planned to go out for the night. As we waited on the taxi, I noticed my ex was crying. I asked what was wrong and she broke down in floods of tears. As I held on to her, I again asked what was wrong. "I don't want this week to end" she said.

Seems weird, thinking about that now.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Sat 7 Aug 2010, 4:07, Reply)