NyghtWalkers and Quarell Pykers

This is something I started writing about ten/fifteen years ago when I was a poor student. I guess bridget jones was big which would account for the diary style and I have no recollection why I chose that title. Think I intended it to be some sort of relationship/love story. Have a look, see what you think and I'll see if its worth finishing.


1. Year of the bottle

July 15th 1997   Oh great.Woke up this morning to the sound of Sarah singing again in the bloody kitchen. If there was ever an omen to show what the rest of the day was going to be like that was it.Why the hell does she have to do that on a Saturday morning. Here I am struggling to even breath never mind anything else and she's down there singing along to the bloody Supremes. She fancies herself as a bit of a Diana Ross does our Sarah. The problem is she's nearly six feet tall, weighs thirteen stone and wouldn't sound out of place in the back alley with Clarence and his chums. (Note... must find out who Clarence actually belongs to.) So anyway here I am lying in bed contemplating the wonders the day is going to hold for me when oh great... MARS DAY strikes. Oh that wonderfully timed monthly torture. Michael first named it that because he said being near me at that time must be very similar to living there. Anyway it stuck around longer than he did. I of course, as we women are known to do, claimed it, altered it and announced it as my wonderful theorem. Now it reads like this: MARS DAY 1)Wake up to a storm brewing inside of me. 2)Bloat to the size of the planet (to scale of course) 3)Face and all other visible anatomy turns red. 4)Eat lots of confectionery of the chocolate variety to sedate myself. 5)Become a truly undiscovered, uninhabitable place.So great, rush to the toilet in a state of utter joy (condom hadn't split after all, must have just got a little over excited „ must let Leanne know) only to find that Kathryn is once again locked in their performing her thrice daily ritual.I swear, how that girl manages to hold onto her job I'll never know. Ok she was always self obsessed when we were at school but we're all in our twenties now and I had hoped that living with me and Sarah would have knocked it out of her. I am a confirmed slob. Watcher of cheesy tv, consumer of fast food and even faster disappearing alcohol and doer of no exercise (apart from the obvious) ever no way no how. Sarah does have a daily routine but only if she can be bothered or hasn't got a bloke staying the night after she's picked him up the night before on one of her weekly prowls. So here I am standing there with a flow to rival Niagara and Kath promising just another two minutes darling in her charmingly affected way (must get an en suite when I move). Two minutes ha, it was 9:15, that meant she'd have showered and exfoliated and moisturised.She'd have checked for any stray hairs that her wax treatment/electrolysis had missed and made a note of them in order to complain at her next appointment. (Money back guarantee of course) That meant that she still had her nails to do, her teeth to brush and floss, oh and her hair to treat. That meant that she had at least another good half an hour in her. Surf board rescue. I hate these bloody things. New bodyform with wings, a hammock for your crabs more like. Ok maybe that's a tad too much but for gods sake they have to have been invented by a man. The bloody things are horrendous, washable rags come back all is forgiven. I swear I might as well use a five pound note for how effective they are, it would probably absorb more and save me money. God I hate the first day of a Mars cycle. God protect anything that gets in my way. Cute pup wants to play with a ball maybe next week when it's able to remove it from its backside. Dishy boyfriend (as if) smiles, he will be praying to be locked away within one hour, I kid you not. I come from the P.P.S.H (Paranoid,Psychotic,Sisters of Hell) school of life. NEVER trust the bastards is what I say. They hit you with a smile to cheer you up on a MARS DAY, you hit them with a ten tonne truck whilst blasting out Celine Dion, that'll show them that you mean business. Now don't get me wrong it's not that I'm bitter or anything I just happen to hate the bastards. Of course it has nothing to do with the fact that Stephen and I split up three days ago. That I had found him cheating on me with Charlotte of all people, in my bed. No it was just that as I was getting old and mature (aaah twenty four in three weeks) I had come to reassess life and in particular relationships.Who needed that hassle,a spinster I would be for the rest of my days and joyous to be that way as well. The question is, if you're a spinster does that count as the same as a nun and does that mean no SEX? "Finished darling, do excuse the mess but I must rush because Clive is picking me up in ten."Kaths head suddenly peered around my bedroom door and threw me mid thought. Bloody hell a world record. Only forty five minutes in the bathroom, maybe Clive won't be as bad for her as we thought. Kath has 'interesting' taste in men. Sure they're all rich, devastatingly handsome and have a personality so amazing that you want to lock it away, it's that precious. I mean what's with that. Where are all the bastards? You know what I mean ,every woman will pick at least one in her dating lifetime and not realise it. The one who's looks leave quite a lot to be desired, who spends all of your money on himself and his mates, has the personality of a dead baboon and couldn't shag for toffee. Kath has never ever dated a man of this calibre though, oh well with a bit of luck Clive will be the one. After all we all should receive what we deserve. Left my bombsight only to be faced with the inspiration for the tornado scene in 'The Wizard of Oz'. Kath bless her was always impeccably dressed, kept her bedroom and the front room like a museum but I pity the poor sod who has to follow her into the bathroom.  There on the floor were five sopping wet towels...I mean what's with that, how can anyone possibly use five towels in one trip to the bathroom. More washing. I think we'll have to have another house meeting. I mean I wash so much of her rubbish that I might as well live with a man, I thought that living  with women would be perfect. You know, we'd all be considerate, tidy and the perfect housemates. Ha! Maybe Mum and Dad would take me back. So now it's ten O'clock and I'm due to meet Leanne at the local tennis courts at 11. Whoops going to have to make apologies again. Our local tennis courts are definitely something to behold, they have the surface of one of those little country roads.You know the type, passing places every five miles, nothing but trees on either side of you and Kamikaze sheep leaping in front of you every five minutes looking as though they are about to do a tap routine for you. As for the nets ha, it's actually just a strip of material stretching from one side to the other there is no actual net underneath. The thing is we just don't care because neither of us can play. It's like watching a child play with its parent except we're both the child and the parent is sat in a pub laughing at the little ones playing. We simply go there because the local running track is right next door, so we get to leer at all the young, fit athletes showing off their rippling torsos all in the name of fitness...and who said that women were dumb. An hour it took me to clean that bloody bathroom, that has got to be a record. How can anyone get a bathroom in that much of a state...sure some of it was my mess from the night before but that really doesn't count. Then I get down to the court to find out that we have lost our place to a group of spotty lecherous teenagers who are drooling at all the scantily dressed women when they bend over... hypocritical me, never. You see for Leanne and I it's different we are looking for a steady partner and buns of steel are an important prerequisite, these lads on the other hand were just being pervy and as they were leaving the court I told them so in no uncertain terms. Yes my big mouth worked wonders again.All through our game they stood behind me making comments I haven't heard or used since my own youth...oh so many moons ago. So we went to the pub. Pub,don't you just love that word. It just brings to mind so many connotations. Leanne and I like proper pubs. You know the sort, one smelly old fella sat in the corner on his own, looks and smells as though he's dead and it's not until he suddenly takes a drink that you can tell either way. Then there's the bunch of leery lads in the corner talking about their lasses knockers and how long they kept it up the night before. Real men...and not a single lass between the lot of them apart from in the centrefolds of a magazine, you've got to love the little darlings. We grew up in pubs like this and learnt all the patter and I guess that's where we get our wicked tongues from, but we wouldn't enjoy ourselves anywhere else. We have tried those new pubs, when the new Yates opened in town we went along with Kathryn and her mates. They were ecstatic, oh the witty comments on the walls and the little private booths what rapture. What bollocks more like.It was full of lasses, and I use the term very loosely, wearing clothes that can be only worn by pre pubescent twelve year olds, you know...shaped like a young boy. As for the lads, well they smell like the perfume counter in boots and are dressed like a mannequin from top man. As for the beer oh yeh please let me pay over two pound for a pint of warm gnats piss, ten pints later and your still sober but peeing for great Britain. I swear after being in there, I could have filled the grand canyon with the amount of fluid I passed Got back from the pub at about five totally hammered out of my head, well you know what it's like,you say that you are only going to have a quick drink or better yet that you are sticking to coke, but balls to that. When you get in there and you see that gorgeous head you know there is no going back, if you take my meaning. Kath was in her room singing along to Mariah Carey, we really must sort out her musical tastes, as for Sarah who knows. Sarah is the ultimate party animal, her weekends start off at Cream, after that well any ones guess. Come Monday morning though she arrives from her bedroom radiant, we believe that she must be feeding on the blood of some innocent virgin, it has to be the only explanation. I on the other hand know that I am going to be spending Sunday recovering yet again, good job I don't have to do anything. Went to bed at about seven o'clock only to be woken up by Kath screaming her head off into the phone using language I didn't think she even knew. After the crying and the throwing of precious breakables, (all mine by the way, how the hell does that always happen?) I find out that Clive has just dumped her so that he can go on a weeks holiday with the lads to Ibiza. I consoled her but of course I was secretly happy that she had finally experienced what we all had, ah the joys of sisterhood.

July 16th 1997 Woke up to the scream of the alarm at 8am, turned over threw it at the wall and went back to sleep oblivious to all. Finally got up at twelve o'clock, only to realise that I was lying in a pool of my own vomit. After finally getting Kath to calm down, she decided she really needed a good girls night out, so well I had to oblige. I was doing fine till I changed from the wine and decided to go onto the tequila slammers. Even that wouldn't have been too bad if it hadn't been for the fact that we got into a drinking competition with the lads from the local football team. Well I had my reputation to honour didn't I. Anyway after gingerly walking along the earthquake known as my room and making it to the bathroom, I got this niggling feeling that I had forgotten something. Yes I was due at my parents for Sunday lunch in one hour. Now had to make the great decision, did I ring my parents and pretend that I was ill, or go round regardless and try to cover up the fact that Satan and his minions were dancing around in my head. In the end the latter won out. My parents aren't stupid and if I had rang them an hour before I was due to arrive they would have known I had a hangover and given me grief about it for the next week. If I went around though I could just pretend I had the flu but that I was being the ever grateful child and forcing myself to go round to see my wonderful parents. I think mam was a bit dubious after having been on a few girls nights out with me, but dad didn't have a clue. He couldn't do enough for me and he drove me home afterwards and gave me twenty pounds for 'medication' ah aren't parents great.. anyway it's now seven o'clock and I'm going to bed...I so hope the demon has left me in the morning..I don't think Emma and that lot can cope with another tequila possession.

July 18th 1997 Oh my god what a day I had yesterday. Slept in, yes being the stupid cow that I am I forgot to turn the alarm back on after Sunday mornings wake up call. Woke up at half past eight and had to be at work for quarter to. My life is made up of boozing, shagging and missed appointments. Anyway I rang Emma and asked her to fake some dental appointment for me if any one asked where I was. If Phil found out that I was late three days in a row he wouldn't be happy. To be fair Phil wasn't a bad boss, as far as middle aged balding wannabee Richard Bransons went. I snuck into the office at 9.30,gave Emma a kiss and a big thank you and sat at my desk. Great another day of arranging appointments and sorting out other peoples reports. Being Phils PA wasn't too bad but I was longing to present some ideas of my own. I wanted to be working for Sony records not Emerson Production plc. Anything that involved music though was better than working in Mcdonalds for the rest of my life.  

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