Bittersweet Success, Kissinger’s Plan & New Love
Monday January 7th 2002
Whatever I do, I simply can’t get the taste of bittersweet success out of my mouth.
Following our still raw and painful break up last summer, CR and I have spoken on the phone a few times, usually at moments when we are both feeling profound sadness at not being in each other’s lives.
In such circumstances, even those moments worthy of celebration are quickly dampened by the fact that we can’t celebrate them together. Christmas 2001 was the most difficult of those occasions, despite having a great time with all my friends and family.
So I couldn’t wait to return to London to dive straight back into writing the second episode of GEORDIE BOYS, having delivered Episode One to my commissioning producers just before the festive season began.
However, since I started talking to my Bilderberg insider, Petra, in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, the growth of my comprehension of the extent of the problems the world faces has been inversely proportionate to my dwindling motivation to write about three generations of Newcastle United fans, which seems frivolous by comparison.
Were it not for my contractual obligations, I know I would otherwise be focusing upon drafting a screenplay which tells the story of the attempted assassination of the first 9/11 Whistleblower, three years before the murderous event was stage-managed by private mercenaries, working closely with MI5, MI6, MOSSAD and the CIA.
Endless Wars Against Invisible Enemies
Petra told me the last time we talked on the phone that the Rothschild cartel is planning to use 9/11 as a pretext to wage endless wars against invisible enemies, starting with the CIA-manufactured threat of Osama bin Laden, the supposed architect of the attacks.
However, the war that was almost immediately declared against the Taliban in Afghanistan, purportedly the place where bin Laden and his alleged accomplices are hiding after carrying out their atrocities, is in reality a pretext for the Rothschild cabal’s seizure of the Afghan poppy fields, following the Taliban’s prohibition of an estimated 92% of opium exports, which sent the price of the Chinese heroin sold on European streets through the roof..
Petra also said that the long term goal, after taking control of every nation state and the world’s resources via the fake War on Terror, is to engineer a false-flag viral pandemic, in order to justify a globalist totalitarian takeover by the same banksters who financed the French, Russian and Chinese communist revolutions.
But that’s not even the worst part because the ultimate objective is to realise Henry Kissinger’s plan to rid the world of up to 95% of the human population, whom Kissinger describes contemptuously as ‘the useless eaters’.
Back To Grieving For The Living
Even though it’s difficult to focus on writing Episode Two of GEORDIE BOYS, with all that and much more swimming around in the ocean of my thoughts, it has nevertheless distracted me from wallowing in the tidal waves of emotional angst, caused by the catastrophic loss of the family R from my life.
Almost six months after I packed my worldly possessions into my weather-worn Peugeot 405 and drove away from the richly cultured life CR and I built together, in the chilled-out cherry blossomed avenues of Stroud Green, I remain stricken by the grief of having to walk away from people I will always love like they are my own blood.
Whilst my internet dating exploits have already yielded fine nights with numerous intelligent and attractive women, with whom I have enjoyed many lovely dinners and overpriced bottles of wine, my honesty about the recent break-up was still enough, in and of itself, to convince all of them that I’m nowhere near ready to have another serious relationship.
However, it’s not the fact that I always bring up the subject on first dates that averts the possibility of new love kindling – it’s the obvious sadness that I can’t hide whenever I talk about the life I’ve walked away from.
In truth, I’m just so fucking angry that I had to sacrifice celebrating my hard-won writing commission for GEORDIE BOYS, with the people who contributed so much at the most crucial stage of my life to date, in a myriad of invaluable ways.
The most important of which being that they all loved me as one of their own family, from the first day we met till the last. Dealing with the break-up is shite enough, without having to deal with the loss of such wonderful and extraordinary people.
So to say my success in securing a well paid writing commission tastes bittersweet is an understatement, after breaking up with the woman I honestly believed to be the mother of my unborn children, primarily because of my temporarily modest financial position, three days before shaking hands on a deal which made me affluent for the first time in my life.
True Friends in Time of Need
Once again, the ever-present support of my flatmate, Brad, my best mate Guy and my oldest friends, Bart, Gra, Peter and Wils, have made everything much easier to deal with than it otherwise would have been.
Today, as I treated Brad to another a la carte dinner at the Little Bay, as a small token of my eternal gratitude for his unconditional generosity in my time of need, he reminded me that the best thing I could do is simply focus all my energies upon my career, which does appear to be on the up and up.
I’m not sure if I’ll still be living at his West Hampstead flat by the summer but I know I will move on with many fond memories our time together when I do. Especially the intellectual discourse on life, comedy and the opposite sex and waking up to Brad playing Mozart on his grand piano every morning.
If I am ever in a position to repay his unconditional acts of friendship, I most certainly will, one way or another. I really don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t offered me a place to stay, the day before I left CR.
A true friend, if ever there was one.
Tuesday January 8th 2002
Supervising Producer, Martyn Auty, called this afternoon, to let me know that Executive Producer, Ian Gordon, is very happy with the first draft of Episode One of GEORDIE BOYS and that a meeting with a BBC has been penciled in for the end of the month.
He then said that, having read the script himself, he is now more convinced than ever that we have a great piece of television on our hands.
I thanked him for all his support and encouragement. Without Martyn, none of this would be happening and I would never have met him were it not for Dougie Henshall’s introduction.
Feeling suitably humbled by the faith they have placed in me, I immediately got down to work on Episode Two, which I am aiming to deliver within the next six weeks.
Whilst churning out page after page today with very few distractions, in a series of fleeting moments I tried imagining GEORDIE BOYS going out on prime time BBC1 on a Saturday night, as it will if Martyn and Ian’s financing strategy succeeds.
But each time I soon banished such thoughts from my mind because my instinct keeps reminding me that even the best laid plans can so easily fall apart, especially in the cut-throat, amoral quagmire, otherwise known as the Film and TV Industry.
That’s before we factor in that I have been told I am on the MI5 watch-list, just like radical socialist director Ken Loach was from 1966-1981, because of the powerful effect his BBC Television Play, ‘Cathy Come Home’, had on the British public.
At least I won’t be surprised when the seemingly inevitable denouement of the BBC’s firm interest in GEORDIE BOYS transpires in accordance with MI5’s non-negotiable advice on my potential for political subversion, in the event I become the household name that everybody I know [including Martyn and Dougie] insists I am destined to become, whether I like it or not.
Monday 21st January 2002
Met Martyn and Ian at Shepherds Bush tube station in West London, before making the short walk to BBC Television Centre on Wood Lane.
Once through the extremely heavy-handed security, complete with ‘Total Recall’ esque body scans and searches, we sauntered into the famous BBC canteen, where we waited for Head of Sport, Peter Salmon, to join us for an informal meeting.
The strategy to get the series financed is to persuade Peter, the former Head of Drama and life-long football fanatic, to put his weight behind the project, before we approach the new Head of Drama, Barbara Mackissock.
I immediately liked Peter as soon as he joined us in the canteen, well before he told me that he believes that GEORDIE BOYS will make a great TV series.
He can see no reason why Barbara will not feel the same way and suggested that we also talk to Olwyn Hocking, the Head of BBC North East, whose support he is convinced we will be able to obtain.
As we traveled back to central London on the tube, despite my cynicism which preceded the meeting, I could hardly contain my excitement.
It still seems too good to be true but Ian and Martyn have been down this road before with other projects and they cannot remember such enthusiasm from Peter Salmon for any other title at such an early stage.
So they have no doubt that Barbara will commission the series. Martyn also said that he will try to arrange a meeting with her some time next week.
Nevertheless, this familiar feeling of foreboding in the pit of my stomach just won’t go away, every time I think about the likelihood of the BBC green-lighting a television drama series written and directed by a notorious Geordie recalcitrant, who is already subject to indefinite MI5 surveillance.
Thursday 14th February 2002
Despite being more healthy than I remember feeling in years, I’m having a few problems writing Episode Two of GEORDIE BOYS.
The first fifteen pages of anything new are always a fucking nightmare to get right but I am finding that I much prefer writing fiction than fact-based drama.
Nevertheless, I still have money in the bank, probably enough to get through another six weeks if necessary, so I’m not going to panic just yet.
On a completely unrelated subject, tonight I had the most surreal first date of my life, on the first Valentine’s Night since my break-up with CR, of all the nights upon which it could have fallen.
Within a minute of introducing myself to a political secretary I shall call Gina, in a busy bar on St Martin’s Lane, she told me there was no point in continuing with the date because she was already certain I was gay!
Despite assuring her with a wry smile that I am so heterosexual I’ve been refused entry into a gay club for “looking too straight”, she insisted she’d never been wrong about such matters and she knew for a fact I was hiding in the closet.
So I smiled again and told her that I wouldn’t be surprised if the reason she was drawing such an impossible conclusion was because she was actually hiding in the closet herself.
“You’re so right…” she said, “I just needed somebody to say that to me. Thank you.”
We then spent an enjoyable couple of hours sinking a bottle of overpriced white wine, discussing political corruption and laughing about how utterly surreal our first and last date was.
Upon my return home, it suddenly occurred to me that I should heed the advice Dougie Henshall gave me the last time we talked about my ever-increasing workload:
“Get a PA, Michael, because you need somebody to organise your life, so you can focus on what you do best.”
So the last thing I did before hitting the sack in the early hours was post an ad for the position of part time Film Director’s PA in the jobs section on Loot.
Friday 22nd February 2002
From the moment I met my new PA at her informal interview in Soho yesterday, I knew we were going to get along famously. It wasn’t long before I offered her the job and she was happy to get cracking straight away.
So the lovely Diana arrived just before ten this morning and took care of ten months worth of filing in a few short hours, while I managed to write another seven pages of Episode Two – the most I’ve managed in one sitting for weeks.
Suffice to say, she has already had a significantly positive impact upon my life. Feels good to say the least and I would never have even placed the ad in Loot were it not for Dougie’s wise words of advice.
Wednesday 5th March
Since Diana started working with me I have made so much progress. While there is not a single administrative detail out of place across my entire life and work, Episode Two is all but finished. A couple of days polishing and it will be ready to deliver to Ian and Martyn.
Now seriously thinking about making the trip to Cannes this year and Diana says she would love to go with me.
Provided I don’t have any unforeseen problems getting paid again, I will easily be able to cover her expenses. I will also be very glad of the company.
Friday 7th March 2002
Delivered Episode Two to Ian and Martyn today. Ian called to say they have received it and promised that I would have £10,000 in my account by Monday at the latest.
However, I checked the contract and remembered that the first five thousand was an option payment for the series, following which I was paid another five upon delivery of Episode One, instead of ten.
Since I will soon be paid the full £10,000 upon receipt of Episode Two – the fee I receive for writing each episode – it’s obvious that I am still owed another £5,000 for the pilot episode.
But given how well things are going, I am more than happy to wait until everything else owed under the contract has been paid before I raise the subject.
Monday 10th March 2002
As soon as the ten grand hit my account this morning, I called my oldest friend, Bart, to see if he wants to go to Amsterdam for a few days. Within a couple of hours of the conversation, we’d booked a trip at the beginning of April. Can’t fucking wait!
While I was finishing Episode Two, the prolifically efficient, thoughtful and organised Diana was researching the final episode. Because this is the most painstaking part of writing any fact-based drama, she really has made my job so much easier.
Wrote seventeen pages of Episode Three at the first sitting today. However, the only problem is that I’m not sure if I like the direction of the story.
Nevertheless, after drawing a complete blank with Barbara Mackissock, Martyn has spoken to another BBC Drama Head, Gareth Neame, and I sent him a copy of the first episode this afternoon.
If I wasn’t so excited about my imminent three day break in Amsterdam, I’d probably have that all too familiar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Wednesday 9th – Friday 11th April 2002
God I love Amsterdam. I hadn’t been back to the place since CR took me for my thirtieth birthday, but it was [almost] just as good being there with Bart for three days.
From the moment we walked out of Amsterdam Central, we both completely chilled out. It didn’t even matter that we were walking the canals for a couple of hours looking for a hotel.
We found a nice place on the Amstel in the end and after dumping our bags we headed down the river and visited the Bushdoctor, the first coffeeshop we came to.
Luckily for us, we were served some of the finest hash and weed available to Man, along with a half decent pair of espressos, which we enjoyed before leaving in search of breakfast. By the time we found somewhere that was open, it was already time for lunch
Over the course of the next three days we sampled the finest delights of Dutch Flowers, the Tweede Kamer and the Greenhouse. We also drank an awful lot of beer, Jack Daniels and red wine, as well as eating in some the city’s best restaurants.
It was so great to spend some quality time with my oldest friend. For the most part we just talked like we have since we were eleven years old.
Only instead of sitting on the dry stone wall of a bridge across the Hepscott burn, talking about the girls we were going to send a valentine card to, we were talking about all the women we have already sent one to.
Some things will never change and thank fuck for that. Inevitably though, life still has to move on.
I don’t exactly know how and I don’t know when or how long for, but I am certain that one day I will live in Amsterdam.
I’ve never felt so relaxed in any other city. Just imagining what being that chilled out all the time might inspire me to create is sending shivers up my spine as I write this.
Tuesday 22nd April 2002
I’ve managed to write thirty two pages of Episode Three. But I think I might have to bin most of them, as I’ve concentrated far too much on my childhood.
The last episode is supposed to finish with Newcastle losing the league on the last day of the 1995/96 season and I’m currently writing about the years of mediocrity in the eighties!
So the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that this series is gonna take longer than three feature length episodes to complete, which makes this episode almost impossible to write.
I am therefore fortunate that I still have almost nine grand in the bank and even with the Cannes trip just round the corner, I don’t really need to get paid again for another six months, if I’m careful.
In other words, I’ve still got plenty of time to work out how I’m going to frame the third episode. Ian and Martyn are more than happy with the first two scripts, so they haven’t given me a time limit on Episode Three. But still no news from Gareth Neame at the BBC.
This made me think about the final time I spoke to Petra, before she headed off for her new life in a place nobody will find her, unless she wants them to.
During an emotional conversation, she confirmed that MI5 have had me on permanent surveillance since the day we started talking and that one or both of us would be killed in the event we continued communicating.
After I promised to double-check everything she told me by conducting my own research, the last thing she said to me was this:
“Whatever you do, Michael, never forget that, apart from me, you are the only one who knows everything and they will use absolutely anything they can stop you getting the story out.”
Something in my gut tells me that MI5 isn’t going to like the fact that the BBC is on the brink of committing £2.25M to finance production of GEORDIE BOYS.
Is that the reason we never heard back from one Head of BBC Drama and now another one has failed to respond to the script for the pilot episode?
Thursday 8th May 2002
Flew into Nice on the morning flight from Luton, armed with half a dozen copies of the latest draft of the screenplay for my directorial feature debut, NEFARIOUS, some VHS copies of my critically acclaimed and widely distributed short film, ROADKILL, and a few hundred flyers about the former, which have been designed to make it look as if the film has already been made.
Caught a cab from the airport to Juan Les Pins, a few miles down the coast from the world famous Croisette, where I checked into a decent three star hotel.
After showering and grabbing a quick lunch of local fish, salad and a glass of white wine, I caught another cab to the accreditation centre in Cannes, where I queued for my market pass.
To prove I am an industry professional, I had to produce a business card, a link to my IMDB page and a copy of ROADKILL. The arduous and sweaty process took all of two hours.
I then headed for the Carlton Hotel, where I picked up copies of Screen International and Variety, which I perused over a couple of extortionately priced beers and a double espresso. I also flicked through the Cannes Guide and made a list of companies to arrange meetings with.
While reading Screen, I noticed that a new sales company called Arclight is launching at the festival and they are rumoured to be desperate for projects in all states of development.
The CEO and co-founder of the company is an Australian called Gary Hamilton, who built a strong reputation for selling independent films when he was at a company called Beyond Films.
One of those films was ‘Strictly Ballroom‘ by Baz Luhrmann, so he might just be worth a call.
Diana arrived in the early evening with more NEFARIOUS scripts and business cards. We had a nice meal of fillet steak with roast vegetables in Juan Les Pins, accompanied by some amazing red wine from Bordeaux and a very large glass of the best Calvados the house had to offer. Purely to aid digestion of course.
Friday 9th May 2002
The next morning we made it to Cannes early enough to pick up Diana’s market pass without a fuss, then grabbed some coffee and croissants for breakfast, after which we headed for the market.
The plan was to arrange meetings with as many sales companies as we could, preferably those on the list I’d made the day before, to pitch NEFARIOUS.
As fate would have it, we wandered into Arclight’s booth in the market, where Gary and two other men were dealing with as many on the hoof meetings as they could handle.
I spoke to Gary’s partner, Victor, for long enough to place a leaflet in his hand. While he looked down impatiently he said that they would try to fit us in for a meeting tomorrow.
Then he looked up from the NEFARIOUS flyer and said, “Does this movie have a sales agent?”
At that moment, Gary appeared from another meeting and Victor grabbed him as he headed to yet another. “Have you seen this? It looks like it’s already made!”
Gary nodded and said that we should set up a meeting, before going to the next meeting thirty seconds late. Victor asked when we would be free and we arranged to meet this afternoon at four thirty.
Over the next few hours, Diana and I spoke to Pathe, Miramax, Film Four, Lionsgate and Spice Factory, whose fast-rising CEO, Michael Cowan, had just become a partner in Arclight.
He has also raised millions of production finance for dozens of films using a UK tax break called Sale & Leaseback.
Michael said that we could probably pull everything together if Arclight came on board and the meeting with Gary and Victor went extremely well.
I gave them a script and a VHS of ROADKILL and Gary promised to get back to me sometime next month. If he commits to the project, Michael will help raise up to 12% of the budget in Sale & Leaseback proceeds.
This trip has already been a roaring success, so we couldn’t be happier with the progress we have made. Diana and I celebrated with another lovely dinner in Juan Les Pins, along with the obligatory bottle of Bordeaux and a large Calvados.
Afterwards, we strolled off the meal, then sat by the sea, whilst I smoked a joint of sweet Moroccan hash, which I had managed to score from some stoners on the beach. As the sun set over the Mediterranean, we could both see a very bright future ahead.
My mind then wandered into fantastical thoughts of returning in two years from now with NEFARIOUS. I called Dougie Henshall to tell him the exciting developments. He was ecstatic to hear the news.
Saturday 10th May 2002
After a lazy morning, Diana and I met Kim Bodnia in an expensive beach bar in Cannes for lunch, opposite the Miramar Hotel. He was in town to promote his latest film, ‘Old Men In New Cars’, the much-anticipated sequel to ‘In China The Eat Dogs’, which Variety compared to ‘Pulp Fiction’ and ‘Lock Stock…’.
At the expense of the film’s distributor, we drank Chablis all afternoon, while we told Kim everything that has happened. He told us that he wasn’t surprised that things are going so well. I asked him why and he said that I am too talented to struggle forever. I was genuinely touched by this, since Kim is not a man to blow smoke up people’s arses.
The first time I met him was in Pappagone’s for lunch last year, a few months before I left CR. He had just finished filming a pirate movie and he was still dressed like Bluebeard when he pulled up outside my favourite restaurant in a black cab.
Neither of us blinked for more than an hour, as we talked about NEFARIOUS and why I want so badly for him to play a role alongside Christopher Walken in it. It was obvious then that we were going to be great friends.
Before he left for the airport that evening, he asked to see where I lived and I took him to my old flat in Stroud Green. He told me on the way over that he had decided in the restaurant that he wanted to work with me and that he would do all he could do help raising the finance for NEFARIOUS.
Since then, he has been working solidly on other films but now he is ready to make good on his word, so I gave him the latest script and he said that he would call me when he gets back to Denmark.
Monday 9th June 2002
After a few weeks focusing upon NEFARIOUS, I have been attempting to re-write Episode Three of GEORDIE BOYS. While some of the previous problems still exist, the new mechanics of the story allow a more flexible time structure.
I’m just about starting to feel reasonably happy with it but it’s much longer than the other episodes, by more than twenty pages. So either episodes one and two have to be longer or I need to get the sheers out and give three a short back and sides.
Because Diana is so efficient there isn’t much work for her to do at the moment. She finished the GEORDIE BOYS research weeks ago and I can’t really justify paying her £200 a month for 32 hours of sitting at my desk waiting for the phone to ring.
She was obviously disappointed when I told her but she is looking for a full-time job anyway. For the time being she’s still going to work three hours a week to keep on top of the admin. However, it will be a sad day for both of us when it’s time for us both to move on.
Finally went to the Dentist today, after more than a decade since my last traumatizing encounter with the NHS dental demolition squad, who have decimated my adult teeth with drilling and fillings I didn’t need.
It’s going to cost over four thousand pounds to fix the damage they’ve done at the taxpayer’s expense because my mouth needs a complete fucking renovation and that doesn’t come cheap.
I know I will be paid another ten thousand when I deliver Episode Three, which will probably happen sometime this week. But after the five thousand outstanding for Episode One, I don’t know where the next cheque is coming from.
Called Nicola Richardson and asked her if she had me up for any voice overs this week. She told me that she was actually waiting to hear back about a radio voice-over for Kwick-Fit. A few hours later she called to say that I’ve got the job! It’s only a couple of hundred quid but it’s a start.
Friday 13th June 2002
Unlucky for some but not for me it would seem. At least, not anymore. Delivered Episode Three to Ian and Martyn this morning and by the time I checked my account just after 3pm I had already been paid another £10,000.
Called Bart and planned another trip to Amsterdam. Then my mate Dave called to say that he had acquired two spare tickets for Glastonbury. So I called my second oldest friend, Gra, and he was elated with the news. It will make a change from climbing through a hole in the fence.
My sister, Joanne, and her husband Marcus, came to stay at Brad’s flat for the weekend, so I treated them to a lovely meal at the Little Bay. Marcus is such a good bloke. They really do seem to be so happy together.
When we got back to Brad’s we cracked open another three bottles of wine and chewed the fat for a few hours. Joanne asked about my love-life and I filled her in on the gory details of internet dating.
Marcus then let something slip about somebody Joanne has recently become friends with. Joanne then told him that he shouldn’t have said anything because she is already engaged to somebody else.
Intrigued as to why he would even mention it, when I asked they confessed that she is living with one of Marcus’ friends, whom she isn’t getting on with very well. But that still didn’t explain what relevance it had for me. Joanne then admitted that the beautiful redhead in question might just be my type.
Apparently, she’s into the same kind of music and films as me, she shares my affinity for fearless hedonism and she looks like a fifties movie star. As if that wasn’t enough to attract my attention, we share the same birthday, nine years apart.
I told Joanne sincerely that she had better not introduce me to her. I don’t know how but I already know there will be fireworks if she does and judging by her expression when I told her that, so does she.
Monday 30th June 2002
Over the course of the past two weeks, my life has changed beyond recognition, of which I will now try to make sense.
The weekend after that conversation with Joanne and Marcus, I was invited to a barbecue at my their house in Newcastle. I was already in town because Bart was throwing a party at his flat in Jesmond on the Saturday night and we were flying to Amsterdam for another jaunt the following Monday morning.
As I pulled up on Joanne’s driveway, I felt like I was about to begin a blind date. I know it’s ridiculous because she was there with her boyfriend but that’s how it felt. I wandered into the garden where I was met by Joanne.
Marcus was cooking meat on the barbecue, as I was led over to the table, where EM was sitting with her fiance, J.
With long, thick and wavy red hair cascading down onto her shoulders, glistening in the sunlight, I thought she was beautiful even before she took off her sunglasses to reveal her beaming brown eyes.
Nevertheless, judging by the way EM was already looking at me and the way she almost immediately started finishing my sentences, it was obvious that we had a serious connection.
Twenty minutes later, I went to get more drinks from the kitchen, where Joanne was making a salad. She asked me what I thought about EM and I told her I was totally smitten.
She laughed in disbelief and told me that EM had just said exactly the same thing to her, a few minutes earlier. The only problem was that she was engaged to another man, who was sitting in the back garden drinking his fifth bottle of Budvar.
Needless to say, it probably wasn’t the wisest of moves for us all to descend on the party that evening, which was largely made up of members of the legal professions, but that’s what we did, having already had a skinful.
However, the truth is that I was looking and feeling better than I have in years, with no debts and money in the bank, for which I worked hard and sacrificed much to obtain. Since the only thing I lacked was that which money can’t buy, I was more than prepared for the opportunity which presented itself.
Everything Changes
Out of respect to J, nothing happened between EM and I while they were still together, despite dropping very strong E’s at the party, where we ended up on our own in the toilet, whilst having intense rushes from the pills.
At which point, she looked me in the eye with an angelic smile and said:
“Either it’s these E’s doing the talking or I’m totally in love with you, you know?”
So I told her I felt exactly the same way but I was prepared to wait for as long as she needed.
Suddenly, in bursts J, also flying high on MDMA.
“What’s going on here then?” he said, with a hysterical laugh.
“We’re just agreeing how fucking strong these pills are mate…” I interjected.
“Fucking right they are son. Told ya they were top drawer!” he replied, without anything remotely approaching concern.
Thankfully, the rest of the party transpired without major incident and after spending most of Sunday in the recovery position, Bart and I flew to Amsterdam to chill the fuck out for a few beautiful days.
During our second blissful sojourn on the serene canals of the Dam, I told him that EM intended to end her relationship with J and after that we would most definitely become an item.
A couple of weeks later, that’s exact;y what happened, so I’m heading back to the north east for a while, to make my mind up about whether EM really is the mother of my unborn children.
