Having known each other at school and not really liked each other (for various reasons, we shan't discuss here) we lost touch after sixth form. It wasn't a big deal. We survived. We were fine.
It was 2003, I was working on my internship at Visteon, I'd recently just turned 21 and not long before that had become single. My dad had some spare tickets for the rugby and I asked the boys if they wanted them, and that was that. Plans were set, arrangements were made.
Until the night before, when Caroline and I were out and about in Chelmo town with our martini and lemonades, Apple Sourz and WKD Blues being Garage girls and a bit rowdy and we bumped in to the boys. Tom mentioned that he couldn't now make it, but had replaced himself with the now Mr G. Well he was always Mr G, but he wasn't my Mr G! I wasn't happy, but there we go. I couldn't replace him at that late stage... and then he staggered past, held up by two Watsons, barely able to use his legs. I was not impressed!
Tom gave me Nick's number, told me where he lived so I could go and collect him for the taxi and wished me luck. It wasn't me that needed luck... if Nicholas G wasn't ready and waiting, and SOBER when I went to collect him, he was going to encounter The Wrath for the first time.
The next morning I got up, collected Neil and Danny, we went to purchase some snacks for the journey and then went to collect Mr G.
He staggered out of his parents' front door red of eye and wild of hair and to his credit put in literally all the effort in the two and a half hour drive to Twickenham. Bless him. He must have been dying. But he worked his little hungover socks off being polite and engaging and thankful for the tickets with my parents up front, while I watched from the back, scowling!
Who remembers what happened at the actual rugby? Not me! I know it was England v Italy. I know I spent almost my entire month's salary in the Bollinger tent in West Car Park. I know we bumped in to Nick's rugby team in there and they initiated a game of "smash the plastic cups on Nick's head". I know it was FREEZING!
I asked numerous stupid questions ("why is it called a Try, when they've actually achieved it? Shouldn't it be called a Done?")
Later that night we headed back to Essex and everyone lamed-out and went home but I had a bit of a tantrum and wanted to stay out. So Nicholas stayed out with me and we drank GnTs and played on the fruit machine in a bar that has since changed its name at least 15 times.
That night I dreamt Mr G and I got married.
Imagine if Tom had kept his ticket?
Hash Tag Lucky Escape!
|Me and Mrs G approx ten years ago. Look how happy we were...|