Sorry I haven't been at the blogface for a while folks. Things to do, people to see, crosswords to finish, chord sequences to practice. And more...
My friends (and Kaz) will tell you that I'm a cold blooded logical scientist and haven't got a romantic bone in my body, but they couldn't be more wrong. I've just been working on the most romantic, life affirming project of my life but sadly it hasn't gone to plan. I'm loathe to tell the World about it but I think I have to tell SOMEONE to unburden this aching hurt that fills my soul so you, dear reader, are the unfortunate recipient of this sad news.
As you know, Kaz and I have a regular "arangement" which I've become increasingly frustrated with - she doesn't realize it but I'd like us to become a proper "item" like ordinary people instead of this bizarre John Alderton-Pauline Collins life that we have been living.
Obviously being Kaz the Harridan of Accrington I can't just ask her outright - she'd laugh me out of court and say something all "Victoria Wood" like "Dint thee be saft thee girt lummox!". I had to do something she would see as more subtle, original and romantic to cut through that steely Northern exterior to the burning heart I know is within. So I came up with a plan.
Six months ago I hear that Albert along the corridor along from me at the flats was leaving and his flat was about to become vacant. I immediately started working on Kaz to persuade her to exchange and move upstairs because this was going to be vital for my plan - fortunately she took the bait and the other week moved in.
Once the date of the move was set my plans went into overdrive. I drew out a large chunk of my paltry Teacher's savings and contacted a Manchester Agency to produce a bus-side advert specifically for the Magic Bus which goes past the flats - I can't tell you how much this cost!
Finally on the day of the move, I spent 2 hours travelling back and forward on the upper deck of the bus looking up whistfully and pointing down at the advert as it passed the flats.
Was she swept off her feet? Was she gob-smacked with the audacity of romance?
No. She was pre-occupied with a burnt sausage that had been placed in her oven (not a metaphor I'm afraid) and didn't see the result of my labours at all.
I don't know what to do now readers. What do you suggest?
