Cuckfield

The ground started to joddle. It was almost time for her to emerge; a crocus pushing the earth before it and emerging into the spring sun, a hero thrown into a sewage recycling plant and the villains think that the protagonist is dead but they emerge without any shit on them. She felt like this.

Two months ago I was sat in a beer garden and i asked her to watch my bag as I went to the bar for a drink. She said it would be no problem. On my return she made a joke about taking the money out of my satchel. I think I said that I wasn’t bothered about that but the almost complete tax return. She said she knew what a nightmare that was. I should have talked more but I hadn’t left the house for a little while and my confidence was not all it could have been. I thought I was going to say something more and I either spilt my pint or knocked over my bag.

By the time I had regained myself she had been joined by a friend. I drank up and on my way past her table thanked her for looking after my bag: then tried, with all my might not to stumble up the steps on the way out of the garden.

Two months later and I think I saw her again. I had had a bit of a clear out at home and dropped of some extremely heavy bags of at the charity shop. I was pushing my sweat soaked fringe from my face and with pursed lips trying to control my breathing. I caught sight of her and see smiled. Maybe she doesn’t want Mr Perfect? Third time lucky!