Graham reveals himself to be a schmuck

At lunch with Louise, my phone rang. It was Dunk. He sounded angry, flustered, in a way that I totally wasn’t used to. Something happened at last week’s party – the party that I’d been at with Kate – and it had really gotten under Dunk’s skin. Dunk’s generally a very cool customer, so this was serious.

“It’s Graham. At that party last week, he tried to force himself onto Kate – tried to kiss her – but Kate wasn’t interested, so she said no. And then Graham got aggressive, and started calling her names. Shouting at her and calling her a slag.”

My jaw hit the floor. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t get my head around the situation. I was shocked. And, from within, I could feel myself becoming enraged. I can’t remember what I mumbled to Dunk, only that he carried on…

Now That's What I Call Music!

Laura and I had given Graham a few ideas about the pub quiz when we'd met him in Oddest last week - namely to include East 17's Deep, and to do a round on the Now... series of compilation albums. As we sat and did the quiz, we saw our suggestions made real before our eyes.

Laura's friend Michelle had invited us to join her and her boyfriend Dave at the pub quiz. At the last minute, however, Helen had jumped on board too. The good news is that we finished first in the pub quiz. The bad news is that Helen was dead rude, and embarrassed Laura throughout.

“P-A-R-T-Why? Because I gotta!”

It was payday eve, and emptiness echoed around my wallet. Christmas punched out my savings, and the burglars pinched my pocket money. “Come to the pub,” Kate said, “my treat.”

I joined Graham, Becky and Luca at the end of the bar. When my meagre funds expired, Graham subbed me. A true gentleman. Luca told us a story about a time he was high on drugs, and paranoia set in.

Too much magic potion

Kate and I were invited to Annelore’s French-themed fancy dress party. I dressed as Asterix, and Kate went as a mime. There were several French peasants who looked like they’d have been quite at home in Dulcimer. Is Chorlton particularly French? It’s a matter of style, I suppose, and of fashion. There were several tricolours, and a couple of Thierry Henrys, but the best outfit there, by miles, was an accordion. I’ll have to find Annelore’s blog to see if there are any photos.

After a little bit too much magic potion, I wandered over to Eeyuni, Nicola’s housemate. Graham’s advice – you need to do something about this Nic situation – was ringing in my ears. As we spoke, I explained that I was behind the flowers. Eeyuni’s advice was very similar to Graham’s – do anything, but do something!