Dogfish, Indoor Climbing & Chunder.
Back in the mists of time, when your humble correspondent was happily engaged hacking up fishies by day and staring at small bits of them through microscopes, he shared a lab with a nice young lady called A.

Apparently she'd been nervous of him for a while at first, due to the leather, enthusiastic participation in silly sports and to be fair a Jockanese accent. As time went by, she realised that actually he was a jolly nice chap, and sharing of notes and so forth occurred.

Now, before you make a lemming-like leap to the wrong conclusion, absolutely nothing of that nature occurred, although the night she spent in his bed after getting blootered did cause tongues to wag. (He was in a sleeping bag on the floor. Gentleman, see?).

In fact she had a jolly nice chap back home, got engaged and married a few years later.

Haaanyway, one fine day in the middle of the night, she escorts some of her chums from Halls to the chamber of fish-genocide.

Completely oblivious of their arrival, clad in a blood and other suspicious juices coated labcoat, dissecting merrily away, and probably bombed out of his teeny-tiny on the ethanol wash that was massively over-used, your hero doesn't even grunt at them.

Now one of her friends was a slightly quiet Welsh lass. Tall, slim, moderately deranged, liked nothing better than wearing a sort of white jimjam costume and hitting people. The depths of her derangement can be illustrated by the fact that as she saw yours truly gaily slicing his way through a former Dogfish, she decided there and then that she was going to marry this object.

(Not that she told me, or I'd have jumped out of the window in terror, and we were on the third floor.)

There then followed a campaign of intimidation. Her friends knew of her deranged passion for the balding Jock. He was completely oblivious, and after a couple of crap short-term 'relationships' after the big heart-break, wasn't too keen to get serious: being in his final year, vaguely considering signing up to wear green for a living on behalf of Big Liz, and basically wasn't after anything more than mindless shagging. And beer.

However, Operation 'Get Osok' had started.

Somewhat bewildered by being repeatedly invited out by this bevy of young ladies, which was unusual as they were first years, and as such did not often socialise with grizzled third years (the Union Meat Market and Pull-A-Fresher nights don't count) also factoring in the uncomfortable truth that he was basically quite ugly and had limited success in the pursuit of phlange over the years....he stayed in the lab.

Well, the thesis needed doing, and training dogfish to do dolphin stylee tricks doesn't count.

Eventually however, A's fella visited. And as it was a special event, your hero turned up.

Funnily enough, the only space open at the table was next to a tall, slim Welsh lass. Who didn't even mind when climbing the wall behind the table, including placing a DM briefly in her crisps, was the logically correct route to the gents.

All seemed to be going swimmingly, and indeed 'something' was developing in the heart, mind, and most importantly trousers of the narrator, when the Welsh one started to turn a fetching shade of green.

Now she wasn't drunk, but..ooh, she's gone white with green patches...to the Ladies, with female escort.

Allegedly what followed was "HUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH......Swooshhh....as a flood of dodgy Newcastle Brown issued forth in biblical quantities.

Oh.

Never mind, being a Gennelman of the proper type, the offer is made to walk the Welsh one back to her room, as she is still feeling distinctly dicky. Unknown to said Gentleman, the table full of friends is ninja-ing along twenty yards back muttering such things as 'Gerrin There Ya Puff' an so forth from the males, and 'Awwwwww' from the fluffy laydees.

Back to room. *Thinks* *Thinks Once Again* *Bugger*

"Do you fancy coming out for a drink sometime?"

*Shit*

Captain Fuckwit has just offered to take the vomit champion of North Wales out for a beer.

*Double Shit*

*Sinks into floor*









She said yes.

That was 15 years ago.

We're still together.

Which if nothing says wonders for her patience, strength of character, and willingness to put up with very long sentences.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Sat 30 Aug 2008, 12:58, 2 replies)

A welshwoman and a scot...
Strange combination but just might work *ponders*
( girlinthehole, Sat 30 Aug 2008, 17:08, closed)

A strange combination indeed.
Will their offspring be Wots or Squelchmen?
( Schweaty Minge I spunked in your tea! Taste it and see! D:, Sun 31 Aug 2008, 17:23, closed)