a beautiful revolution: blog

other people's Ordinary Love Stories

I asked people to send in their ordinary love stories.

You can read them all here

Ordinary Love stories: Flow

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with an obsessive compulsive named Flow. She smells of incomplete lists and eucalyptus trees.

For two days I watch her, sitting on our porch. A torch in one hand, a shovel in the other, dressed it her yellow boots, just looking at the sky. 'But Flow,' I sigh softly, as her tired tiny body tries not to cry. 'I beg you, I beg you, please come back inside.'

But Flow doesn't hear me - she sits there for the week. Unable to eat, drink, think or sleep; just waiting for the snow to fall imperfectly at her feet.

Ordinary Love stories: Mandy

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with Mandy the market-trader from Milton Keynes. She smells of hot dogs and counterfeit perfume.

On our first date, I decided to woo Mandy with some Greek mythology I’d recently read:  'In the beginning,' I explained, 'all human beings were hermaphrodites with four hands and four legs and two faces turned in opposite directions on the same head. These hermaphrodites were so powerful and their pride so self-absorbed that Zeus [the supreme god] was forced to cut them in two - into a male and female half. And from that day, each man and each woman has yearned to rejoin the half from which he or she has been severed'.

Mandy told me to stop being drippy.

'But I think you're my severed half,' I cried.

Mandy did not reply. And we spent the rest of the evening in a disastrous silence.

Ordinary Love stories: [Can't Say]

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a mysterious blogger called [Can’t Say]. She smells of printer ink and HTML.

Today I sent her an email and just sat by my computer hoping she would respond. I even told her my real name – just to show how much I trusted her. Eventually, after hours of anxious waiting, the mysterious girl finally responded to my heartfelt email but still she insisted on being called [Can’t Say].

If ever [Can’t say] were to find it in her heart to reveal her true name to me, I am sure it would be a name more pleasant to my ears than any other sound I have ever had the privilege of whispering.

Ordinary Love stories: Corner Shop Girl

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a little Pakistani lady. She is twice my age, and her skin is creased like a crocodile's.

Every day I go to her shop and order my cheap cigarettes. Every day she greets me with a smile that would light up even the dullest of worlds.

Today I went at the usual time and found she had been replace by a teenage girl with no joy in her eyes. I ordered my cheap cigarettes and asked the teenage girl where the little Pakistani lady had gone?

‘Pakistan’ said the girl, handing me my cheap cigarettes, as I left the shop in a flood of tears.

Ordinary Love stories: Agatha

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a literary girl called Agatha. She smells of musty books and coffee beans.

For almost three hours Agatha sat in bewildered silence as I told her all my hopes and dreams. ‘I want to write books and poems and idylls,' I said, 'I've hundreds of the buggers swirling round my head’

Agatha twitched, took a final sip of coffee, and said she’d let me know. 

It’s been almost eight months now since Agatha and I first met, and still she hasn’t replied. It seems I shall need the patience of a saint and the determination of a wilder beast if I am to make the literary girl called Agatha truly truly mine.

Ordinary Love stories: Idiot Boy

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with an idiot boy whose name I choose not to utter. He smells of felt-tip pens and cheap cigarettes and has recently emerged from the gutter.

'Oh Idiot Boy,' I joyfully cry, 'just look what you have achieved'. But Idiot Boy cannot see what I see, and simply refuses to believe.

'Oh Idiot boy,' I joyfully cry, 'every part of your life has been planned'.

'Fuck off' says he, with a pen in his hand, drawing things that ought to be banned

Ordinary Love stories: Magdalene

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a Christian fundamentalist called Magdalene. She smells of hand-cream and bagels.

Every day she sends me an email full of love. And everyday I send her one in return.

This morning I received an unexpected email from her father that read: Magdalene and I have had a very long chat and Magdalene has decided to forget all about you and wait for God to send her someone more suitable.

At first I thought it was just another one of her father’s crazy jokes, but it's almost midnight now and I'm really beginning to fret.

Ordinary Love stories: Hopscotch

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with an invalid called Hopscotch. She smells of blackberry crush and juvenile lust.

Every week I visit her in hospital and every week she greets me from her bed with humbling eyes that bring joy to my life. But today I found her sitting outside in the pouring rain swearing at the elderly people waiting for a bus.

'What's wrong?' I shouted, as she sobbed in her chair, her world apparently crushed.

'I've spent all flipping day on E-flipping-bay, and I can't find a prosthetic leg in my size.'

'Oh Hopscotch' I sighed, 'let's get you inside, as your wheelchair is starting to rust'.

Ordinary Love stories: Jacquelyn

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a broadsheet journalist called Jacquelyn. She smells of double skinny caramel macchiato with whipped cream and is a brilliant speller of words.

It all began one Sunday afternoon when, perusing the technology section of my favorite newspaper, I came across a story she had secretly written about me. It was the nicest thing I’d ever read, and her perfectly spelt words filled my giddy heart with butterflies and joy.

For days I just sat and stared at Jacquelyn’s perfectly spelt one-hundred-and forty-word idyll. I read it over and over again. Eventually (and despite the bit where she said I was 'a little self-indulgent') I decided to make my move. Destiny waits for no man, I thought to myself, as I packed a dozen red roses into a cardboard box and attached the handmade card, which read:

Jacquelynnnnnnnn my darling, my sweet secret crush
Your perfectly spelt idyll, has filled me with such lust

xxx

[I am still awaiting Jacquelyn’s response]

Ordinary Love stories: Blossom

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a middle-aged psychotherapist called Blossom. She smells of apricots and antiseptic cream.

Every week I visit Blossom in her whitewashed room filled with joy. And every week she greets me with an optimistic smile that instantly lifts my spirit. She is a marvelous person. And our meetings are without a doubt the highlight of my week.

But today, Blossom didn't greet me in her usual manner and just said I was no longer mental and so she had decided to discharge me.

'But can't I just pretend I'm still ill?' I sobbed.

'No' said Blossom, in a tone I hadn't heard before, 'That would be totally unethical'.

And with that, my case was closed, and I was left to face the cruelness of life on my own.

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a middle-aged psychotherapist called Blossom. She smells of apricots and antiseptic cream.

Every week I visit Blossom in her whitewashed room filled with joy. And every week she greets me with an optimistic smile that instantly lifts my spirit. She is a marvelous person. And our meetings are without a doubt the highlight of my week.

But today, Blossom didn't greet me in her usual manner and just said I was no longer mental and so she had decided to discharge me.

'But can't I just pretend I'm still ill?' I sobbed.

'No' said Blossom, in a tone I hadn't heard before, 'That would be totally unethical'.

And with that, my case was closed, and I was left to face the cruelness of life on my own.

Ordinary Love stories: Boudicca

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with an antiwar activist called Boudicca. She smells of body paints and lentil soup.

I first met Boudicca at an antiwar demonstration in London. She had the nicest bottom I had ever seen, and her vulgar songs about George W Bush truly made me blush. ‘Andre’ she would smile, with heavenly pink lips that plain and humble boys such as I could only dream of kissing. 'Who let the bombs out?'

At the time I did not know who had let the bombs out and so I would just shrug my shoulders and hang my head in utter shame. But over the years she has taught me things, many things, and now when she phones me from her two-man-tent and asks. 'Andre, dear Andre... who let the bombs out? I tingle all over and joyfully cry. 'Bush, Bush and Blair'.

Oh how I wish one drunken night she would tie me to the railings and seduce me with her fiery passion.

Ordinary Love stories: Kafka

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with an Italian waitress called Kafka. She smells of whipped cream and Parma ham.

Today, I ordered my cappuccino and decided to sit at the table outside her pretty little bistro. Almost at once, Kafka appeared in her tight fitting apron, with my perfectly made coffee. I smiled, and as she replaced the dirty ashtray on my table with one she had cleaned with her own fair hands, my heart skipped a beat and I swear I could hear the sounds of The Little Minuetto from Don Giovanni humming softly in my ears.

Ordinary Love stories: Ona

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a Lithuanian auxiliary nurse called Ona. She smells of lavender and lukewarm milky tea.

When Ona smiled at me today in the Accident and Emergency Ward I wanted to warn her about the National Health Service. ‘Don’t be fooled by their kindness. You’re just being used - a pawn in their despicable game. Your work permit is only temporary and soon, the powers that be, shall send you back from whence you came,’ I wanted to shout. But I just couldn’t bring myself to break her pretty little heart - and so I just asked, with a tear in my eye, a heavy sigh and a curious lump on my delicate thigh, to point me in the direction of Ward 76B.

It was truly awful.

Ordinary Love stories: Catastrophe

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a melancholy girl called Catastrophe. She smells of cheap red wine and perpetual despair.        

'It's no good,' she wept, as we sat by the lake, eating tortillas and hot-dogs, contemplating our fate, 'for I shall never find the lover, the handsome lover of my dreams. An unwritten book, a house full of fleas, and a needy best friend is all I shall leave'. She sighed, her hand clutched to brow - looking directly at me!

Ordinary Love stories: Supermarket Girl

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a supermarket girl. She smells of washing-up-liquid and is a genius at maths.

Every day I visit her supermarket and just wonder in awe as she shines like an angel under a halo of fluorescent tubing… sigh. And when she mumbles to me, without a moments hesitation: That’s eight pound and twenty-seven pence… do you have a Nectar Card? I simply explode with delight.

Ordinary Love stories: Yoko

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a Japanese girl called Yoko. She smells of ginger sticks and jellied-eel.

'What's wrong?' I mournful asked, as I found her sobbing in a tiny heap outside Buckingham Palace.

'My camera has broken, and I've just missed the changing of the guards,' she wept with exotic eyes that set my heart on fire.

'Come with me,' I shouted, with a mischievous wink, 'And I'll take you to a hidden place where a solitary soldier of our majesty the queen secretly hides.'

Yoko looked at me with utter fear, and cried and cried and cried.

Ordinary Love stories: Agnes

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with an afflicted female called Agnes. She smells of chewing gum and Irn Bru.

As I entered the reception area of the plushest bank in town, my heart skipped a beat as I saw the prettiest girl in all of Scotland sitting at the desk. Her brown curly locks perfectly framed her pale white profile. Over come with such beauty, I simply couldn’t help myself, and gave Agnes a friendly grin. But Agnes completely ignored me and continued to manicure her nails. Undaunted by her apathy, I walked slowly up to her desk, lowered my head to her eye level and gave her one of my bestest smiles. But still Agnes didn’t notice me.

[I think the poor thing is blind]

Ordinary Love stories: Suitcase

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a traveling lady called Suitcase. She smells of Himalayan goat's milk and is always on the go.

Oh how I long to meet up with Suitcase for a coffee and a chat about her extraordinary adventures. I too, have been on many hair-raising escapades: Toronto, South Clapham, Alton Towers, and I’m sure we would bond in an instant were she able to find the time in her busy schedule for a lonely boy such as I. But every time I email her saying, 'lets meet up on Wednesday or Thursday or Friday. I really do not mind'. It seems the Gods are always against us, and Suitcase sadly ends her briefly worded email to me with yet another boldly typed GOODBYE!!!

Ordinary love stories: Beverly

I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a socially awkward beauty called Beverly. She smells of salt and vinegar crisps and simply refuses to look me in the eye.

As I sat on the train opposite her, dressed in my finest pink cowboy shirt, Beverly remained oblivious to my presence and continued to stare at the floor. ‘What tragic twist of evil fate had left a beauty such as Beverly void of all self-worth?’ I wondered to myself, as we hurtled through the countryside at 1000mph.

Suddenly, Beverly’s phone began to vibrate to the sounds of The White Stripes. ‘Hi babe’ she smiled, in a manner I had not suspected from someone so clearly afflicted by inner-doubt. ‘I’ll be at the station in 10 minutes, I’ll meet you outside… bye… bye… yes babe, I love you too’

Oh how I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.