Oh Sweet Jesus...

Has it really been a month since I last posted anything on here for you all to salivate over?

It has? Well, all I can say is "I'm sorry" and hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If not then we're gonna have to live with it forever 'cos I ain't gonna let a little thing like that get in the way of our friendship.

So, what's been happening in the life and times of your narrator? Well, pretty much fuck all. Unless you count...

• Losing my Internet connection for two weeks.
  
• Meeting a girl.
• Having my Vespa stolen.

***********************

• I lose my Internet connection.
  

I lost my Internet connection for two weeks due to "Technical Problems" with Virgin Media dial up service. This really makes me mad and even drives me to the point where I telephone them to give them a piece of my mind.

I pick up the phone and dial. An answering service picks up. The trials begin...

"Welcome to Virgin Media. We now have Three options for you.
If you have a problem with your TV press 1 now.
If you have a problem with your Internet press 2 now.
If you wish to pay a bill press 3 now."

I press 2.

"Welcome to Virgin Media. We now have two options for you.
If you have a problem with your broadband connection press 1 now.
If you have a problem with your dial up connection press 2 now."

I press 2.

"Thanks for calling Virgin Media. We hope that we have answered our question and that you continue to enjoy our services. Press the hash key to go back to the main menu."

I press the hash key to go back to the first multiple choice question and begin the cycle once more. After much pressing of buttons I get the same thing. No help, no luck and no joy. Two weeks pass and by the grace of God (I assume that He had something to do with it) I now have my Internet connection back.

***********************

• I meet a girl...

Late one night (About 2 or 3 in the morning) I run out of cigarettes and take a slow walk to the 24 hour garage to buy more. My ipod is playing in my ears and my hands are in my pockets keeping the cool night air from getting to them.

I reach the garage and stand at the night counter waiting for the garagemonkey to come to the hatch. A taxi pulls up and a cute blonde girl gets out and goes over to the cash machine. Less than a minute later she is cursing like a trooper at the machine and hitting it with one of her high heels.

The cash machine gives her her money, she pulls her shoe back on, straightens her dress and composes herself before entering the garage. She doesn't realise that at this time of night the garage doesn't allow anyone inside the building and promptly walks into a locked door.

I stifle my giggles as she walks towards the night counter. I smell perfume, hairspray and booze on her breath.

"When did they start locking garages at night?" She said. Slurring slightly due to the fact that she is almost cross-eyed with drink.
"Right after everyone stopped trusting each other. So I'd guess it was about five minutes after man first walked upright." I answered.

She laughed.

"You're funny." She said.
"You're drunk." I reply.

She smiles the smile of a very drunk woman. (You know the one; Attractive and repulsive at the same time... "God she looks great with her hair all tousled. Those misty blue/green eyes. That sexy tone to her voice. Oh Sweet Jesus! Is that puke on her dress?") And instantly I'm hooked.

"I'm Duke." I say, offering my hand. (Yes, I'm still road testing my new name.)
"I'm Laura." She replies, shaking my hand.
"Nice to meet you." I say.

The garagemonkey has appeared at the hatch.

"Twenty Lambert and Butler please mate." I ask.
"No twenties, only tens." Comes the reply.
"Two tens is fine." I reply.
"£6.20" Says the garagemonkey.
I put a £10 note in the money tray and the cashier rings the sale through the till.

"Listen, I know we've only just met but how do you fancy going out sometime for a drink?" I say to Laura. She is now holding on to the side of the garage to aid her in standing up.

I begin pulling at the cash drawer of the night hatch to retrieve my change and my cigarettes.

Laura begins laughing.

"You could have just said no, there's no need to laugh in my face." I say, slightly annoyed at the rudeness.

Laura points to my hand.

I'm pulling at the drawer of the night hatch while the garagemonkeys hand is still holding onto my cigarettes. His fingers are bent backwards at a 90° angle. The garagemonkey is wide eyed in pain and is screaming silently. "Holy fuck!" I say, letting go of the drawer.

Laura is still laughing.

I apologise to the garagemonkey and retrieve my cigarettes and my change.

"Is next week OK?" Laura asks, as she regains some kind of control over her laughter.
"Sure. Give me your mobile number." I say, reaching into my pocket for my mobile.

Laura reaches into her handbag and gets her phone. She explains she doesn't know how to get her number from it. I see that it's the same model as mine and tell her I know how to do it. I push a couple of keys on her phone and her number appears. I put it in my phone and we part with a promise that I'll call her in about an hour.

An hour later I call her number. She has sobered up slightly and is managing to hold a conversation quite well. We chat for about an hour and agree to meet up a few days later.

A few days pass and the night of our pre-arranged meeting arrives.

I ready myself by showering, shaving and ironing my shirt. I meet Laura at a bar in town. She's with a group of girls. She's drunk. Very drunk.

"DUKE! GET OVER HERE! I WANT YOU TO MEET MY BITCHES!" She yells across the bar.

I wander over and sit down.

"Hello." I say.
She laughs drunkenly and sits on my knee.
"Howdy big boy, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?" She asks, laughing and shoving her nearest friend in the group to see if they got the joke.
"It's a gun. I'm about to kill myself." I reply, hoping that she can detect the barely hidden sarcasm in my voice.

After about an hour or so I tell Laura that I'll meet her another time as she's obviously enjoying the company of her friends and I feel like a spare part. She drunkenly clings to me like a pissed up sloth, gives me the puppy dog eyes and coo's "Don't go."
"It's fine, I'll phone you tomorrow and we can arrange to meet up again." I say.
"Do you promise?" She says, as her friends all begin to make "Awwww" noises.
"Promise." I say as I pull away and head for the door.

As I pull the door open to get the hell out of there I hear Laura's voice in the pub. "Isn't he just fucking lush?" She says, as her friends all resume their chorus of Awwww's.

The next day I call Laura. We chat for a bit. She apologises for being drunk when I got there and explains that it was her friends leaving party and things got a little out of hand. We arrange to meet again a few days later.

A few days pass.

I iron my shirt, shower and shave in preparation. I go to where we arranged to meet. She's already there. She's alone. She's sitting at the bar talking to the barmaid. She spots me as I approach. "THERE'S MY MAN! COME HERE AND GIMME A BIG FUCKING KISS!" She bellows at the top of her lungs. She's pissed. Again.

I walk over to the bar and order her a drink.
"Make it a treble with no ice." I tell the barmaid.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" Laura slurs.
"Nope, that's to keep you warm." I say.
"That's your job." She slurs, attempting to be slightly suggestive.
"I've just quit." I reply, paying for her drink and heading for the door.

***********************

• My Vespa gets stolen.

On Friday night I pop up to my friends house and we spend the evening chatting, having a laugh and playing computer games. At the back of eleven there is a loud CRACK from outside. "What the fuck was that?" My friend asks as I head to the window to check on his car and my bike.

I look out the window.

"I think my bike is gone." I say, heading to the door to go downstairs to check.

I get downstairs to find that my bike is gone.

As I walk back into the stair my friend comes bounding down the last flight of stairs and yells "Come on, I know where they'll be!" as he passes me.
"Fuck that, the feds can deal with it." I say as I head upstairs to use the phone.

I call the cops and report my bike as being stolen. The Federale takes details and tells me that as it's late there might not be anyone able to attend and I may have to wait a few hours before a full report can be made. "It's just as well I'm not being murdered." I say, sarcastically. I tell the Federale I'll go to the nearest cop shop and do the report.

My friend arrives back with a look of rage in his eyes. He drives me to the cop shop and waits outside in the car with a joint while I go in and give the night duty Federale the details.

The night duty Fed informs me that due to a technical glitch they aren't able to update the PNC (Police National Computer) so the reported theft has only been distributed by the local police radio channel.

"You're not with Virgin are you?" I ask.

The next night at about 3am I get a phone call. It's the Feds. They've recovered my bike and want to know if I can pick it up.

"Where is it?" I ask.
"It's in Saughton Park, opposite Whitson Way. Is that far from you?" The Fed asks.
"It's about four hundred yards." I reply.

I pull on my clothes and walk the few hundred yards to where the Feds have my bike. From a distance I can see the broken wing mirrors, smashed front light and the twisted handlebars. My heart sinks. Thoughts of revenge pass through my mind and I consider offering a £100 reward for the name of the thief so I can go round to his house and break his hands with a hammer.

I push my bike back round to my house and lock it up. Where it still sits.

Just call me Putrakettleon.

I got up early this morning as the sun had me from my slumber at the devilishly early hour of 6am. By 6:30am I was washed, dressed and downstairs warming up the Vespa for a drive in Edinburgh and its surroundings.

Nine and a half hours later I returned home and pulled my helmet off to discover that I've got sunburn. Not normal sunburn. Oh no. I've got what should be termed Biker-Burn or something similar to allow you all to picture the kind of sunburn you'd get if the only part of you exposed to the suns rays is the part of your face that is behind the visor of your helmet.

There's a bright red oval stretching from the top of my eyebrows to the bottom of my nose and from one temple to the other. I look like some kind of albino Aztec Indian. All I need now is a bone through my nose, a hat that would make Carmen Miranda shit a brick and a CD wedged in my bottom lip and the look would be complete.

Pulling on your helmet...

Is a great way to get rid of stress.

Whoops, hang on, that doesn't sound quite right... That sounds like I'm advocating jerking off as a way to rid yourself of tension. It does, but that's not the point I'm trying to make here so we'll drop it here before it gets out of hand...

What I mean to say is that pulling on a crash helmet and going for a drive along familiar roads is a good way to blow the cobwebs out of your mind. And this is exactly what I did yesterday when I hopped onto my Vespa and headed out of Edinburgh towards Dunbar.

As I left the outskirts of Edinburgh and approached my old haunting grounds of Musselburgh I gave a thought to the many happy times I'd spent in and around Musselburgh with friends and lovers long lost in the mists of time.

I've some very happy memories of days spent in Musselburgh with my ex girlfriend Katy and her family but I didn't dwell on them too long as I passed the bench where Katy and I went our separate ways many moons ago.

This night was not the time for sad thoughts and regret so I kept on moving. I left Musselburgh and headed along the coast road towards places not visited in many a year. (Though I will admit that my heart skipped a beat or two when I drove past where Katy used to live.)

Onto the coast road I opened the gas, felt the wind blow the sadness out of my mind and concentrated only on the ribbon of road ahead of me. The sun was dropping low in the sky and as I scooted along I'd take the occasional glance to my left to see the orange hues of the late evening sun paint the sky like Monet could only fantasise about.

Dunbar came into view a half an hour later and I drove along the High Street towards the harbour where I parked. In the distance the Bass Rock sat giving off a strange cream coloured glow in the setting sun, kids fished from the end of the harbour and I sat and watched the sunset with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

A few people were walking on the sands and I pondered who they were. What did they do for a living? Were they happy? Was life being good to them? Did they have kids and a family or were they alone in the world with only friends for company? Many questions whizzed through my mind and I had no answers to any of them. As is so often the case.

"Nice night." Said a voice behind me.
I turned around and saw who was speaking. "Beautiful." I said. But not in reply to her statement. A blonde haired woman with green eyes stood there. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt that had the initials LSU across the front.

"Tis ain't it." She said. I noticed a southern twang in her accent.
"Sorry, I was thinking out loud." I said, flicking my cigarette into the harbour behind me.
"Pardon?" She asked, unsure of what I had meant.
"That was the first thing I thought when I saw you standing there." I said.
"Aww, that's sweet." She said, blushing slightly.
"Nice bike." She said. The sun reflected off her hair and it shone with a golden glint.
"Huh?" I asked. Having totally forgotten that I was sitting on one.
"Your bike?" She said, pointing to the bike beneath me.
"Oh, right, sorry. I was miles away." I said.
"I'll leave you alone, looks like y'all're deep in thought." She said.

The realisation that if I didn't snap out of it this beauty would walk away and I'd never see her again struck me. "No!" I snapped. "I mean, no, it's fine. I was just taken aback by you." She smiled a million dollar smile and I got off the bike and offered her my hand. "I'm Duke." I said, not quite knowing why I had chosen this moment in time to road test a new name.

"Penny." She said, taking my hand and shaking it. Her skin was silken and soft and I shivered at her touch. "Nice to meet you." She continued.
"Do you live around here? Or are you just on a visit from the states?" I asked.
"I'm here with work." She said.
"What do you do?" I asked.
"Conservation studies." She replied.
"Birds and shit?" I said, letting my default language pack take over.
She laughed and said "Quite literally. Most days all I see is birds and shit."
"How about you? What do you do?" She enquired.
"I don't really know." I answered.
"Isn't that a problem when it comes to payday?" She joked.
"It would be if I got paid. I guess you could say I'm a struggling artist." I said.
"Wow, do you paint?" She asked.
"No, I write. Sometimes. I'm kinda going through a blank phase right now." I replied.
"Have you ever been published?" She enquired.
"Only if you count a letter to a newspaper." I said.

She glanced at her watch and I took this to mean that the conversation was about to come to an end. "Well Duke it was a pleasure meeting you. Good luck with the writing." She said, which I figured meant that we were about to part.

"I don't suppose you'd like to take a walk along the beach with me?" I asked.
"Yeah, why not. I'm out for a walk anyway." She replied.

I chained my helmet to my bike and we set off to the beach. The sun was dropping towards the horizon and the sky was an orange and red tinted canvas above us. We strolled along the beach chatting about this and that... Where she was from, how she ended up in Dunbar, whether she was married or single, where I came from and what it was like.

We must have walked about a mile or so when she said that she really should be thinking about getting back. I offered to walk her home but she said it wasn't far and in the opposite direction to my bike. I smiled and thanked her for her company and the conversation and watched as she headed up the beach and back into the streets of Dunbar.

I walked back to my bike and drove home with a smile on my face. Which strangely had nothing to do with the fact I was on my bike on familiar roads.

There's nothing like...

Putting yourself into debt to force you to get off your arse and get a job.

Which, coincidentally, is exactly what I did about an hour ago when I borrowed £800 off my dad to buy a Vespa.