"She's carked it," emails Trina. I offered to go over, and asked if there was anything I could do, but she said there wasn't much point. I told her that Kitty and Wendy sent their condolences.
At half past two in the morning, I was informed that I am a "selfish twat". "My mum dies and all you can think about is telling Wendy. You are oblivious to the effects your behaviour has on others."
"I apologise if passing on someone's best wishes was inappropriate."
"Totally!"
"I'm sorry," she said a couple of days later, "I just feel I've lost everything, including you."
I'm not sorry, but there might be a bit of a wave of Karen-related posts for a bit. I'm excited, and I don't find keeping things to myself rewarding, so a few more details about last night.
"If you want to see the fittest girl in Lancaster," I said as I was leaving work, "come down the Shipbuilder's Arms." One of my colleagues did turn up. Whilst I was at the bar, she said to her "you know looby's got a massive crush on you, don't you?"
We were on our own for a while during which she started on some complaints about her ex (I hope I am not being premature in ascribing him that status). "He never...pleasured me." "That's handy," I thought, "because you might be getting involved with a bloke who likes just that." I held her look for a couple of teeming seconds and glanced briefly at her lips. "I've got ideas for you," I said.
"He said he could go and get a different girl every night. It's me that could get someone else every night," she said, correctly. But you're choosing to sit with me! I shouted inside.
"He never wanted to dress me up." I could hardly believe my ears. I would love to go out shopping with Karen, her darting in and out of changing rooms all afternoon, trying on clothes that fulfil the dual function of being stylish and intended for sex; for sitting on trains, hardly able to keep my hands off her.
Tonight we were texting about meeting up tomorrow night. "You will indeed see me Karen... and I slightly hope you remember what you mentioned you might wear....XXX"
"Bloody hell what I can't remember a skirt? X"
"Yes you mentioned a shortish one but just come in what you like. I love how you dress Xxx although I suppose if you did fancy wearing a skirt.....XXX"
I had the most expensive haircut I've ever had -- a bit of a waste of fifteen quid -- and took a change of clothes, my toothbrush and my Chanel scent to work.
At three o'clock, she texted to say she couldn't come out, as her dad was struck down with a bad case of diarrhoea. She's coming round on Thursday for her tea. I can't wait to kiss her again, kissing which will be infinitely more enjoyable than the kiss I had in Burnley on Saturday.
I was meeting Trina at our friend's 60th. I couchsurfed with an attractive, charming late twenties supply teacher. I got changed and went to meet my friends for a pre-bop drink.
In the middle of Burnley's bleak shopping centre, there was a woman -- probably homeless -- dancing to a silent music. Being a curious chap, I started dancing with her. She shared some of her tinned lager, me wondering what fluids other than lager we were commingling.
As I walked away, a second woman came after me. "I'd be careful of her you know. She can turn. Anyway love, do you want sorting out for a tenner?"
"No thanks. But I tell you what I would like. I'd like a snog. I'll give you a tenner for a snog."
People who end up as prossies have had any capacity even to fake intimacy beaten out of them, and it was the most expensive and passionless couple of seconds I've ever had. But she needs ten pounds more than me and I'm sure it will be spent wisely.