Well here’s a thing, turns out that Greg was right when he said that he couldn’t guarantee that his lady friend would be free on the dates I suggested. She’s given him the old heave ho.
So I was wrong to consider the notion that he was embarrassed of me. More like he was too mortified about what had happened.
I finally pinned him down to having a pint at the Fish-Under-Water by Parsons Green and he sheepishly turned up wearing a pair of sunglasses. It was still a particularly dull February day, so I confess I had a dig at him about his Hollywood look, so I felt rather bad when he took them off to reveal a pretty decent shiner. Fearing the worst, I asked him what on earth had gone on between them.
It all happened a couple of weeks ago. He said that he had stayed at her place on the Friday night and all had seemed normal. (Some of us don’t really consider putting off having dinner for two hours whilst we wait for our dealer, who has had a puncture somewhere on the South Circular, normal but each to their own.)
They woke up on Saturday morning, wandered to a little place for brunch. Well, from what I gather at the very least Greg had brunch, she sounds like the type to have some fennel in a cup of hot water and call that a meal, but as I say, each to their own.
Afterwards, they agreed that he would pop along to find somewhere showing the England match and she would join him later. He ended up heading to The Gallery. (It was the only pub in Pimlico he could find that was showing the rugby, which seems decidedly odd as you’d think that the area would be chocka with the ideal Rugger demographic. I suppose that most of them were either at the match or watching at their place in the country.)
She’d said that she would join him for the 2nd half. When she didn’t turn up he wasn’t unduly concerned as she’d never seemed the type to be too interested in the intricacies of the lineout, plus he was so caught up in the match, that he didn’t realise until 5 minutes before the end that she wasn’t there. A chap can get awfully engrossed in the rugby.
Anyway, he waited until the final whistle (it was only another 5 mins after all) and then left the pub. As he walked out of the door, there, sitting in the queue at the traffic lights was his squeeze, in the car with her drug dealer. And she was doing more than helping him change gears by all accounts (which seems to me a highly dangerous thing to do in the queue for the traffic lights, you could have to shoot off at any moment).
Well he was fairly stunned and before he could attract her attention, they had driven off.
He immediately walked round to her flat but there was no answer and her phone went straight through to voicemail. So, obviously feel fairly mixed up inside and not really knowing what to do, he went back to the pub.
A fair amount of sorry-drowning later, he staggered out back out. He wasn’t sure what time it was but he’s pretty sure that it was dark.
He decided to go to her flat again to try and have it out. He was obviously quite upset (and tired and emotional) about what he had seen and wanted to know exactly what and how long it had been going on. Plus he’d left his rather nice Louis Vuitton wash bag at hers and those things do not come cheap.
The lights were on when he got there. Even in his state, he very quickly realised that he couldn’t make too much of a scene, as her new friend made it quite plain that he had some pretty lethal ‘insurance’ in a holster under his arm.
She was politely apologetic about the whole business but from what he gathered the main reason she had for making her choice was the having a continual onsite supply of Bogota Bugle.
Realising that there was nothing more to be said, he clutched his Louis Vuitton to him and left. It is a bit unfortunate that he then tripped and fell down the front steps to the pavement.
The poor chap is terribly cut up about it and of course I feel dreadfully sorry for him but I can’t help thinking that he is well out of it.
When it’s got to the point that the chose is between you and the Bogota Bugle, you can guarantee what they will choose every time.
I’m going to organise a bit of a night out to try and take his mind off it.