I bumped into Verity in the car park outside Sainsburys yesterday. We once worked together at an office when we were both temping between jobs in the late Nineties. We were only there a few weeks as the place was horrendous. The office manager hated all living things – and me, especially. He just didn’t get me at all. I could do his stupid little admin job inside out and never took it very seriously. Now don’t get me wrong - my telephone calls to clients were utterly professional and my paperwork and entries onto the mind-numbing database were without fault. But there was no way that I was going to knuckle down and be moulded into one of his little silent keyboard-clicking automatons – I have a big gob and I know how to use it. It became my mission, while I was there, to awaken the automatons from their slumber and put some pizzazz into their sad grey lives – I know, they should all have got down on their pimply knees and thanked me, instead of booting me out the door at the earliest opportunity.
Verity and I joined on the same day and we soon found out that our survival and indeed our sanity depended on one another. We stuck together like glue for those few weeks and spent our lunchtimes unpicking the madness of the morning and threatening to go back in the afternoons and add a bit of flavour to the manager’s insipid herbal teas.
It was during these chats on a bench in the sun that Verity told me a story that has always stayed with me. I have dined out on it countless times. Meeting her in the car park at Sainsburys yesterday made me think to sit down and type it all out for you guys.
Verity’s boyfriend was a big burly rugby player. He spent most of his weekends travelling around the country to attend matches. The team would pile into a couple of MPV’s or a hired minibus and off they’d go to have a bit of a wrestle in the mud and knock each other’s teeth out. Well as it happens, one time they were due to leave and there was a bit of a mix up with the transport arrangements. Suddenly, half the team were stranded and had no transport to the hotel the night before the match. Verity’s boyfriend, Gareth, was one of the ones left standing outside his house with his kit bag at his feet when the call came through.
Being a bit quick with the old brain cells he went back inside and got on the internet. He searched for the cheapest train fare to Norwich and along with all the normal offers up came a very special one. A company that made bath and beauty products were launching a new range, and to coincide with the Valentine’s Day weekend they were running a special promotion. They were laying on a lover's express to Norwich. There was to be a lovely trip through the countryside, free drinks, flowers and chocolates on the train, and a big basket of Cuddle ‘N’ Bubble beauty products for the lovers to indulge in when they got to their destination. The promotion also provided details of discounted accommodation for the weekend in Norwich to tie in with the offer.
After working out the cost of expensive last minute train tickets, plus their overnight costs, Gareth realised that he could get to Norwich on the lover's express for the same price and have some gifts to bring back for the long suffering Verity. I know… What a charmer. He phoned around the rest of the stranded team to see who was still without transport and then called the ticket line. Turns out they were more than happy to take last minute bookings as the train was only half full - they would even offer a generous discount for such a large booking.
“There’s only one thing...” said Gareth, a bit hesitantly to the woman on the phone. “We are all guys. Is there going to be a problem with the booking if we are all same sex couples?"
“No sir,” came back the rather pompous reply, “I can assure you that the Cuddle ‘N’ Bubble Beauty Company DO NOT discriminate in any way. We would be happy to take your booking. Just turn up at the station with our reference number and you and your other halves will have a very romantic trip. There’s even going to be a musical interlude. We have provided a violinist and a tenor to serenade you all. Keep it a secret as a surprise for your partners!”
So that’s how later that day, eight burly rugby players boarded the Cuddle ‘N’ Bubble Express – as couples, arm in arm, with lots of bum slapping and shouts of “Gerrr Off! No groping till I’ve had me chocolates!”
The train staff were completely at a loss at what to say and although they had their suspicions everyone piled on board and the train was off. As soon as they left the station the guys were ripping open their chocolates and proposing on one knee with roses clamped between their teeth. And not long after the champagne began to overflow, raucous rugby songs reigned down on the ears of the other couples. The musicians decided they were too scared to come out and so one particularly stoic attendant marched up and told them “The game’s up boys. You had all better quiet down from now on or you and your “partners” will be off at the next stop.”
So, they spent the rest of the journey giggling and pouring coconut bath crème down each others backs.
Now you’ll either find this story funny, or be mortified, imagining yourselves as a Valentine’s couple trapped on a train with a load of boorish oafs. Or, like me, you’ll think it hilarious as long as you weren’t booked on the Cuddle ‘N’ Bubble Express at the same time. Tee Hee!
But that’s not the end of the tale. As I said, I bumped into Verity yesterday. I haven’t seen her for years.
“How’s Gareth?” I asked, after all the niceties and remembering the Cuddle ‘N’ Bubble Express story and all the pleasure it has given me over the years.
“He left me,” she said, “for another man…”
I was so shocked I completely forgot myself. I actually thrust my face forward into hers and shouted, “WHAT? NO WAY!” Then I recovered, stepped back a pace and stammered out an, “Errr… sorry. That was a bit of a shock.”
“It was for me too,” she said, adjusting her glasses matter of factly and not at all fazed. She even seemed to enjoy watching the effect her story had on me and I got the impression she’d done this several times over the years. “He’s living with a bloke called Malcolm. We’re still friends. I’ve been over for dinner and everything.”
“But… but…” I stammered, trying to connect together the few facts about Gareth that I knew. “So, was it the Cuddle ‘N’ Bubble Express that turned him then?”
Verity looked at me completely confused. “What? No! Of course not!”
The stupidity of what I had just said imploded somewhere deep inside my brain and I just stood there embarrassed, holding my bag of cappuccino cup cakes.
“We hadn’t had sex for the last two years we were together and it was never that forthcoming anyway. Malcolm was one of his rugby mates. They’d been knocking each other off for months before he told me.”
“You seem very matter of fact about it Verity.”
“Well it was years ago now. Water under the bridge. Our relationship was non existent anyway and now I get to go clubbing with them in all the Gay bars. Life’s much more exciting.”
“Well, yeah, I suppose so…” was all I could manage.
So, Verity had decided to make the best of a bad situation and become what’s commonly known as a “Fag Hag.” Can’t say I would have taken it so well myself if it had happened to me, but there you go. I suppose what’s one man's dusty basket of cheap bath beads and rash causing soaps, is another woman's essential oils. With the conversation crushed, we soon after left it there and I trotted off, kicking myself for my insensitivity. But, knowing me, it will definitely not be the last time.
