Triumph Stag
She - Liz - was the love of my life and I was convinced we would marry, have multiple sprogs and live happily for ever and ever (after a lot of shagging of course). Unfortunately she had other ideas and started going out with a bald, podgy wanker called Richard. As far as I could see the only things he had going for him were that he had a good job, his own house, a lot of money, and a Triumph Stag. Whereas I was merely a student living with my parents.

Liz was very understanding: she knew exactly how I felt about her. She hugged me (oh those breasts!) while patiently explaining that it was never meant to be between her and me.

Liz lived just down the road from me. One night as I walked sadly past her house (she was still living with parents too), staring forlornly at her bedroom window, I noticed that his Triumph Stag was parked in the drive: he was obviously visiting, ingratiating himself with her parents. It was a cold, starry night and a frost was starting to form on the car's windows.

I ran across the road and into the driveway, my feet crunching on the gravel. With my finger, warmed by the alcohol coursing through my veins, I wrote in the frost on the windscreen: "Bastard". On the side windows: "Fat bald tit". On the rear window, in mirror writing: "Wanker".

I scurried down the drive and back home. Neither Liz nor fatty baldy Richard ever mentioned it to me; I don't even know if it was legible when he drove away or if it was obliterated immediately by the powerful heating of the Triumph Stag. But it felt damn good.
(Smale is stuffed, Thu 17 Sep 2009, 15:57, 1 reply)

Working heaters
on a 1970s British-built car?

Couldn't have been that!
( uberdeity Wondered why Owen Lars knew of the term "hell" on, Fri 18 Sep 2009, 2:23, closed)