The Spy Who Loved Me

A few days ago I was watching a film with my girlfriend in her room, which ordinarily wouldn’t cause any problems, but this time something happened, something bad.   I left to get myself a drink of water and when I came back I noticed her feet sticking out of the bed.

I’d always wondered if there was some kind of club that James Bond’s various sexual partners could join (maybe some kind of support group?) but I never suspected that my own girlfriend could possibly be a part of it.  How did she meet James Bond?  I’ve seen all of his movies and I’ve never noticed her anywhere in any of them, but here, right before my eyes, was the proof.  I thought that I knew my girlfriend quite well but suddenly everything was up in the air, I was questioning our entire relationship.  What else was she hiding from me?  Was everything she had told me up until now a lie?  Had she cheated on me with James, or on James with me?  With my heart pounding and no real idea how to confront her I got back into bed and pretended to fall asleep.

About an hour later my girlfriend left the room.  I leapt straight out of bed and started searching for more evidence of her shady past: drawers; cupboards; under the bed – no stone was left unturned in my investigation.  Now, you might think that I’d crossed a line, that anyone searching their partner’s closet for skeletons is just asking for trouble, well you’re right, but look at what I bloody found:

We need to talk.


The Shirt Off My Back

Today I went clothes shopping for the first time since June last year.
(I actually bought a cardigan in December for a fiver but it doesn’t really count because it was an impulse decision.)

I hate clothes shopping, so I avoid it. I tell you about today’s trip not because I want to list my purchases or post photos and get opinions but because something happened to me during my trip.

When I was at the till paying… the cashier started talking to me. I wasn’t expecting this.

I go to shops – nearly every day of the week I buy some food or a paper, but these transactions just lead to cursory chats about weather or volume of customers (if anything). This was completely different. The girl behind the counter really talked to me. Was there something about what I was buying that made her break social convention and start telling me her plans for the night? Maybe. I don’t think it was flirting – I looked terrible today.

I might go clothes shopping tomorrow, if only to make some more friends.

(I bought a work shirt if you were wondering. It cost me £12)