About three weekends ago.
The humiliation isn’t actually mine, not in it’s entirety, but the end result was my suffering.

The normally wonderful Scarpette and myself were having a lovely Sunday in the lakes. We decided to go to Brantwood, as neither of us had ever been and we avoid places like that during the tourist season but figured it would be quieter on a cold November day.

After a drive in which she twice took a wrong turn, our harmonious peaceful afternoon was starting to become a little tetchy, with me getting the blame for not pointing her in the right direction and me resenting this because she had told me she knew where she was going.

When we arrived at Brantwood, we realised that we had failed to take account of the fact that there was a craft fair on, which was proving surprisingly popular.

So popular that finding somewhere to park was going to be a nightmare.

We were guided, by a kindly man in a yellow jacket, to a narrow space that needed to be reversed into and my lovely missus does not really like reversing.

Unfortunately, as a reward for taking her coat to the toilet to wash bird shit off it earlier that day, I had come back to find I was being rewarded with a pint of beer with our Sunday roast. Which became two pints. So I couldn’t take over the driving duties to help out.

She made one attempt, but was out of line, so had to pull forward.

Same with attempt two.

And three.

And four.

By now people are watching and she is getting worked up.

Attempt 5 is a fail.

As is attempt 6, which is followed by a stall.

She is now properly upset and we are both aware of people looking at starting to laugh.

Attempt 7 fails and the car stalls again.

And I do the worst possible thing I could ever have done.

I laughed.

Now, in my defence, it was a nervous, oh fuck this is embarrassing kind of laugh. It just escaped, I didn’t mean it.

But the fact is, I laughed.

She is now utterly humiliated and totally fuming with me. She decides we are not ‘fucking going to fucking Brantwood’ anymore and goes to drive home.

And I say ‘We didn’t come all this way not to go and look round now’.

But she insists on driving off, giving me shit and talking to me like I’m the worst person on earth.

My temper snaps.

‘You are not going to talk to me like that, let me out of this fucking car’

And that, my friends, is how yours truly found himself watching the taillights of his girlfriends car fade into the distance as she zoomed off with my wallet, bag, food and mobile phone on her back seat leaving me standing alone on a fucking hillside overlooking Coniston water as the sun started to set wondering if I was going to freeze to death over night.

Half an hour later she came back and we had a nice picnic watching the sunset.

But that half hour was not pleasant.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 14:59, Reply)