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.
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.