London called me on the landline last week. I knew something was up because we’d been down to communicating by text and this meant business:
London: So what’s this, I hear?
Me: Er…
London: Don’t piss me about. Word’s out that you’re leaving. Is it true?
Me: It’s more complicated than that.
London: Okay. So, you come to me in the 80s, a miserable, deadshit no-mark with nothing going for you whatsoever. I pick you up, put you in touch with people who turn your life around, introduce you to fun stuff, make you a bit cool (that was a tough one) and now I gather you’re buggering off to the seaside?
Me: Look, Lon: it’s not you, it’s me. We had a great time together, no one can take that away. But I just think it’s time for a clean break. You know, start afresh. And, let’s be honest, I hardly hear from you at all these days.
London: Do you have any idea how busy I am? Seriously, any idea? I’m a fucking capital city, I can’t be…
Me: Sorry, got another call coming in.
St Leonards: Darling! Can you talk?
Me: Hang on…
London: What’s going on?
Me: It’s nothing. Can I call you back?
St Leonards: I’ll be here as long as you want.
Me: I wasn’t talking to you, Len.
London: Who’s Len?
Me: I wasn’t talking to you, Lon.
St Leonards: Who’s Lon?
Me: Hold up, I’ve got another call coming in.
Brighton: Darling! Can you talk?
Me: Not now, bra, not now. Can I call you back?
St Leonards: What’s going on?
Me: It’s not what you think.
London: What the..?
Me: Lon, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.
St Leonards: You tell that bitch she’s history, doll.
Me: Len, please: let me do this my own way.
Brighton: And what about me?
Me: Can I call you back, bra?
Brighton: You’re all the same, you London ba…
Me: Hold up, I’ve got another call coming in.
Hastings: Darling! Can you talk?
Me: Jesus H Christ.
Brighton: Who’s this?
Me: I’ll call you back
Hastings: I hear you’ve been sniffing around my sister.
Me: It’s not what you think.
Hastings: I’ve got everything she has. And more besides.
Me: Look, I love everything about the pair of you; really, I do. Please don’t make me choose!
St Leonards: Tell her to rack off!
Hastings: Back in your basket, bitch!
London: Hello?
Me: Can I call you back?
London: I’m hanging up the phone now. Call me whenever.
Me: Don’t go! I’ll sort something.
Brighton: Goodbye.
Me: I’m so sorry.
St Leonards: I’m waiting…
Hastings: I’m waiting…
Me: This is ridiculous! Can’t you two talk? I’m sure we can work something out.
St Leonards: Good try, girlfriend.
Me: Come off it, you’re basically the same p…hold up, I’ve got another call coming in.
Hove: Darling! Can you talk?
Ad nauseam
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