The drunk who loved me, cheap veggies and other stuff

You know that Friday feeling, the one where you have managed to survive a week full of challenges and you find yourself standing at the bus stop dreaming of a large G and T and a huge slice of cheesecake?

Yeh, with me?

You stand there wondering if you need to fish your brolly out of the bottom of your bag so you don’t have to squeeze under the bus shelter. You try not to make eye contact with the drunk who thinks he loves you, you listen attentively to the wee wummin whose man is “pure getting it” when she gets home because he forgot to pick up the weans and then dish out advice to the tourists who want to go to the Easter House because they think it sounds fun and in general, just try to avoid the various aspects of humanity that a Glasgow bus stop holds.

You find a seat on the bus, slump down and pray that the drunk goes upstairs because you know that even a loud dose of AC/DC on the IPod won’t stop him from talking to you.  Phew, he has found another object for his attentions, it was short relationship but I will remember him unfondly. Trying desperately not to fall asleep you sit tgazing out the window of the 4a bus watching Friday night life stroll by. Then the big decision, straight home for tea and toast or into Waitrose to do the shopping and buy cheesecake? Decision made because the new girl in the drunk’s life has dumped him and he wants us to get back together again. So off the bus at Byres Road and Waitrose here I come.  Have safely seen the bus and my drunk off into the sunset, it is time to start thinking lists. I need washing powder, fabric conditioner, and toilet cleaner, black bin bags and that unblocking sink stuff that bleaches your clothes if you spill it. But the devil on my shoulder is saying, cheesecake, chocolate sauce, ice cream, you have had a tough week, you deserve it! All the way along Byres Road that little devil tried to out scream Brian Johnson as he yells Back in Black, whilst the angel on the other shoulder talks of pine freshness and gleaming loos.


Ok, basket in hand, blueberries first, then hang on is that carrot sticks reduced to 10p???? One bag in the basket for a bit of dippage later. And now the devil is making my feet walk to the dessert aisle, I am too tired to resist however just as I am about to turn left and grab the last cheesecake, the angel on my right shoulder undid my shoelace and I tripped. Instead of heading into sweetness I headed straight into the soup! A sign my friends, it was sign. So the shopping basket that got checked out was full of laundry essentials, fruit, veg, humus, yoghurt and tonic! Feeling incredibly virtuous I went back and bought another three bags of the cheap carrot sticks. Heading home with my arms straining under the weight of my virtuousness, I started to feel crap, yes crap. I wanted to turn round and say, excuse me Mr Waitrose can I exchange my halo for a pair of bright red horns? But no, I, my sad halo, my ever lengthening arms and sore feet started the walk home.

Now when you are a single woman of fifty who is feeling crap and about to start power surging for Scotland, what is the last thing you want to see? Yes my friends, outside Oran Mhor there were two buskers playing music not dissimilar to the so called romantic French accordion style. As you cram another low fat pretzel in your mouth, you watch as a guy stops, turns round to his girlfriend and says “how about next weekend we go to Paris?” she squeals, he hugs her and you cram another four low fat pretzels in your gob. You then give the buskers a glare hard enough to freeze the sun and struggle on home all the time thinking, I hope they eat a bad batch of eclairs and get sick!

But dear people the further I walked on up the road, the nearer I got to my wee cramped messy bedsit, the more I thought you know what stuff em, stuff Paris weekends, stuff New York cheesecake and stuff Belgian chocolate sauce, I have a bag full of cheap carrots and a tonne of gin at home, these heavy bags must count as weight training and the walk surely must have burned off the 6 low fat pretzels???? No??? Who cares because somewhere out there is a drunk who loves me and for fifteen minutes tonight wanted to marry me, as long as I didn’t tell his Mrs.

Life you are unpredictable, you confuse me, you turn me from a virtuous veggie eating angel to a gin drinking devil. But what the hey, I hear Paris sucks at this time of year, give me a rainy night in Kelvinside any day …. Sighs!


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