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.
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.
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, 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!!!
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.
I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a Japanese girl called Yoko. She smells of pickled ginger 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 Guard,' she wept with exotic eyes that set my heart on fire.
'Oh come with me,' I joyfully squealed, with a mischievous wink and skip in my step. 'And I'll take you to a hidden place where a solitary soldier of our Majesty the Queen secretly hides.'
Yoko looked at me in utter fear, and cried and cried and cried.
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'.
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.
I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a Bosnian brunette called Waitress. She smells of cough sweets and Old Compton Street.
As I sit at the table outside her cafeteria in Soho and watch the handsome men in their tight fitting jeans all pass me by, I only have eyes for her. 'Waitress' I call, in my most manly of voices. 'Can I have a cappuccino?' But Waitress doesn't answer me and continues to chat to the butchest female I have ever seen. Why, I ask the handsome man beside me, is love so utterly exhausting? The handsome man beside me sympathetically smiles and offers me his shoulder to cry on. I decline his friendly gesture and continue my pursuit of everlasting love. 'Cooee' I cry and cry and cry, 'Over here... Waitress... Cooee'. But it is no use - I'm simply wasting my time - it seems that Waitress has convinced herself that I'm a nancyboy and now her sweet, sweet heart shall never be mine.
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]
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 reappeared in her tight fitting apron with my perfectly made coffee. I smiled, and as she replaced the dirty little ashtray on my table with a new one she'd 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.
I have fallen head-over-heels in love with a mysterious girl called [Can’t Say]. She smells of hollyhocks and hair dye.
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.
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 mental?' 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 once more.
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.
