How I met your mother

It is the morning of Thursday the 21st October 2010 and the proletariat have all gone off to the salt mines or the stone quarries - or wherever it is they go to work these days. The point is, they've gone and left me at a bit of a loose end. However, as anyone who glances at this drivel on a regular basis will be fully aware, I can turn adversity into triumph at the drop of a hat. (That sounds a bit flash - it's not meant to be.)

Anyway, be that as it may, before the peasants buggered off leaving the idle poor to their own devices, there was a bit of a conversation and one of them asked another: 

When did you meet your wife? 

Now, this is a question asked in many ways by many people and, in particular, children often ask their fathers:

Dad! How did you and Mum first meet?

I'm taking this a step further and have decided, in my wisdom, to inform the world how I first met Boudica, and I might even put a word of truth in here and there - but I doubt it.

Everybody will be familiar with the children's name, often played at parties, of musical chairs. We all know how it works - we run around to music and when the music stops we grab a chair and sit on it. Whoever fails to get a chair is 'OUT'.

Well, grown-ups have a similar game (probably marginally less fun) that they play at parties. (I went to a party once where everyone threw their front door keys into a pile in the middle of a table - pick a key and whoever owned it, that's who you went home with that night. I ended up with an AA box on the A57. I digress...)

The grown-up version of musical chairs doesn't involve chairs at all - you just walk around with a drink and, when the music stops, you grab the nearest woman and kiss her. If you are a woman then you grab a fellow (it prevents acrimony).

So there I was, wandering about with a drink, when the music came to a stop - so I grabbed the nearest girl and kissed her. The girl was Boudica and she followed me round all niqht after that.

Oh I know what you are all saying at this moment - you are saying:

Come off it, Frankie, you are not that good a kisser.

Well, that may be true, but what I didn't tell you was that Boudica was doing a cartwheel at the time. I'm still wondering why she had nylons on her arms and a hairy face. (Sod it, she's going to make me pay for that.)

The Voice In The Wilderness