I’ve got a boyfriend

Yes, I’ve got a boyfriend. If you could just stop going on about it for a single second yeah? I’m just on the train and my BOYFRIEND is going to pick me up from the station. It’s not even a big deal.

Seriously though, you’re probably wondering what the fuck is going on since the last time you were filled in on the revolving door of sub human scum that managed to slither their way into my inbox. It turns out, like some sort of beautiful hepatitis, my love was laying in wait, under my nose, all this time.

So who is this chap that has managed to take these grade A loins off the meat market? Well, I’ll start at the beginning. We grew up in the same town. Actually, we grew up on the same street. His older brother hung out with my older brother. His mum went to 80’s parties at my Auntie Donna’s house. I probably saw her from the top of the stairs jazzing about with a silk cut and a bottle of blue nun.

As is the custom with a town where you can’t fart without someone knowing about it, I’d seen him around. One of my close friends Paul worked with him in a cool surfy clothing outlet. And I won’t lie. I thought he was worth a squirt. But me being 18 and him being 25, I wrote him off as a proper grown up man who probably had a proper grown up girlfriend and he probably thought I was an emotional garbage bin on fire. I actually had an interview at said clothes shop, turned up late, hungover as fuck and surprisingly, he didn’t give me the job. (I’m fond of reminding him of this).

Fast forward a few years from my failed retail career and to my knowledge, he was married with a couple of kids. But that’s the beauty of marriages you see, they can fall apart, you just have to wait long enough.

I know what you’re probably thinking, ex wife, couple o sprogs and lives in a town that you don’t. How does this nightmare on paper become the love of your life? Patience, I’ll get there.

SO … Old Romeo is now 35 and ten years on, my garbage bin on fire has turned into a fine and nourishing mulch. We were friends on Facebook and Instagram, as you are with everyone you’ve ever met and it came to my attention that Old Romeo would ‘like’ every, and I mean EVERY, one of my Instagram and Facebook photos. Which is fine, I guess, it could have all been innocent. Maybe he thought I was just the new Mario Testino? Nah… it’s not my first rodeo and in my experience men rarely do things, just to be ‘nice’ to someone they don’t fancy. If they’re texting you, running to open doors for you, giving you anything or liking EVERY one of your Facebook or Instagram posts – they probably want to hit it.

I woke up one morning after the night before, still considerably pissed and saw Old Romeo liking my post AGAIN. I thought, right that’s it Romeo, piss or get off the pot. So I started a message…what to say…something flirty but not too direct?

“So…I get the vibe you wanna jump my bones”

Turns out, he totally did.

We went on one date, to a local pub, were we knew literally everyone. He wore a salmon denim jacket, got us a bottle of prosseco, two jager bombs and leaned up against the fruit machine. The rest as they say, is history.

Ever since I’ve been a bonafide listening to Westlife, watching Love Actually, high fiving old people wanker.

The crown of creativity that Single and Stateside once supplied me has been usurped by a new title in town. Happy in Hampshire? I’ll keep working on that…


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