Whatever happened to romance?

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ROMANTIC TIMES: Not all they are cracked up to be.


I DON’T recall ever having received a Valentine’s card in my life and I never send them – at least I haven’t for the last 40 odd years. And there’s a good reason for that, apart from the expense.

The gorgeous Sabrina Wicks – a girl I had had my eye on for a while – was waiting for me as I entered the lounge bar of Ye Olde Boar’s Head Inn, looking as angry as a wasp at a bee convention, and waving a card in the air. She didn’t waste any time and proceeded to tear into me.

“What the hell is this?” she stormed and she read aloud the poem inside the card. “Roses Are Red – Violets Are Blue – When I Undressed Your Mum – I Was Thinking Of You.”

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It wasn’t Byron, but it was funny, or so I had thought.  And so did the other occupants of the bar it appeared, as they spluttered and choked over their pints of Courage’s finest, trying hard not to laugh out loud.

“But how do you know it’s from me?” I countered.

“Because there are beer stains on the envelope,” she cooed mockingly… “AND YOU SIGNED IT!” She bellowed out the last bit so hard, that my head recoiled back in the blast and my eyeballs did a full 360.

Hard to argue with that I thought. It was the darned beer stains that gave it away then.

“Look, I don’t even know your mum; it was just a joke.” I started to say, but I didn’t get any further.

Sabrina gave me a look that could have melted granite before she downed the remainder of her Guinness in one swallow; tossed back her whisky chaser, and stubbed out her Senior Service on a beer mat before depositing the dog-end in my newly arrived pint.

“So will you come out with me on Saturday night then?” I hazarded. I thought it was still worth asking; after all she had not resorted to actual violence, which, I reasoned, left the door slightly ajar.

She gave me another withering look. Then with a final screech of exasperation, she turned on her heel, elbowed her way past me and with her red stilettos clattering on the tiled floor exited the bar, viciously slamming the door behind her.

There was stunned silence for a second or two, before it was broken by my friend Ray who had hitherto kept his head well down.

“I don’t know about you, but I thought that went quite well,” he sniggered.

“Well I’m telling you now, that is definitely the last time I get romantic,” I told him.


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