I voted for David Cameron.

Were the five words that signalled the beginning of the end of my date with W.

As previously mentioned, I’m trying to get back on the horse, so to speak; after the sudden disappearance of A.

I’m not quite sure how I held a straight face during the following gems;
I know people who were in the same clubs as Dave at Oxford, he’s definitely not a pussy.
Gordon Brown is entirely responsible for the recession.
I heard that Ed Miliband is gay and that his marriage is a sham to appeal to voters, no one knows who actually fathered those children he’s claiming are his.
I live with my parents.

Don’t get me wrong, W was pleasant and mildly chivalrous, conversation mostly flowed due to my horror at his political leanings and a whiff of sexism and then suddenly I was a bit drunk and wanting to retreat.

Some food was ordered in a futile grasp at sobriety, at which point he attempted to sneakily feed me meat. That is not a euphemism, don’t toy with the vegetarians.

He accompanied me on my walk to my bus and much to the horror of all my liberal friends (not to mention my sober self) I let W kiss me for a bit. Then he mumbled something I didn’t quite hear. I got it the second time.

“Suck it.”

That’s right, W, champion of David Cameron had just propositioned me in the car park of Brixton prison.

“Don’t be so ridiculous” came out as a sort of guffaw. I got the bus.

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