DIY
OK this isn't strictly speaking a DIY of the black and dekker or ikea variety.

The scene: Sheffield, 2004, a 'quiet' student house inhabited by 5 people with a drinking problem (yours truly being one of those), a catholic, and a happy clappy christian.

Said happy clappy christian is the sort of person who is somewhat tight. Tighter than a ducks arse indeed. He, in fact, squeaks when he walks. The sort of person who will, when in the pub, only drink water because he can get out of a round. I lived with the guy for three years and in all the time there he never bought me a drink, despite the numerous incidences where I bought him one.

Happy Clappy Christian had a Happy Clappy Girlfriend. I hated the woman, and still do. I ran into her a few weeks ago and the sensation of meeting her again was as if my own shit was crawling back inside me. I. Don't. Like. Her.

Anyway, Valentines Day was approaching and Happy Clappy Girlfriend wanted a Special Night. Happy Clappy Boyfriend was less interested, as this would involve spending MONEY.

Happy Clappy Boyfriend decides that he can recreate the sensation and love-in'dness of a fancy restaurant himself. But not on Valentines Day.

February 15th 2004 dawns in Sheffield and finds our God-Bothering hero rummaging in the neighbouring student houses bins to find some roses. Luckily he comes up trumps and finds 11 roses that aren't too soiled or crumpled.

Now dinner.

Logically, when cooking dinner for a loved one (albeit one with whom one is not engaging in the beast with two backs dance due to religious proscription) one would buy something nice. Something that would say, I care for you deeply, I value the time that we spend together,indeed one would pull out all the stops to show the vicious harridan that he cared for her.

One would not, for instance, decide to cook a prawn vindaloo using prawns that one had bought three or four weeks previously and left variously in the fridge or on the kitchen top. A rational person would decide that having left said prawns to fester in their own prawnyness for several weeks would be inviting food poisoning.

Did I mention he was tight?

Both of them spent several days extensively attempting to relocate their bowels to the local sewer. She dumped him a short while later.

Excuse the length, or shiteness. I'm a little drunk.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Sat 5 Apr 2008, 2:56, 1 reply)

Click
The expression "my own shit crawling back inside me" is a masterstroke. You may be drunk, but you write beautifully. Have a click.
(I grew it myself, Sat 5 Apr 2008, 8:57, closed)