I Can’t Give This the Title I Want To

I’m conscious of the fact that this site has a small but loyal readership. I am also conscious of the fact that a number of those readers read the site at work. For this reason I try not to use the sort of words that might offend the sort of naughty word checking devices that spoilsport employers tend to add to their computer network.

This creates a problem for me today. I want to continue a story that I began last week, but it is difficult because to do it accurately I need to use one of those naughty words. Let me explain:

Soppy Sarah eventually moved out. In fact, she went a long time before her notice expired, but before I had to take her to court to get her to pay her share of the gas bill. Whilst it was a relief to be shot of the antisocial nutjob, it did mean that we had to find someone to replace her.

This time, we placed an advert in the local newspaper, the Manchester Evening News. We had a pleasingly large response, although the teenage lingerie model with a limited clothing allowance that I had hoped for either didn’t reply or didn’t get past Helen’s rigorous vetting process. This amounted to ruling out anyone who did not have a nice telephone manner, or who woke her up with their call. Before you think badly of her for this, I hasten to point out that far more people fell into the latter category.

One of those to make it through the screening was David, a dentist who had recently returned to the north west – he was born in Oldham, poor thing – to work and hopefully complete his exams for entry into the Royal College of Surgeons. As soon as we met him we decided that we wanted him to move in. Which was unfortunate as we had other interviews lined up.

The problem that this gives me is that David was hopelessly in love with a girl that he knew from whichever town he had just been working in. From what he told us, it was apparent that she was nowhere near as enamoured as he was and that the whole thing was doomed. But for about a month David mooned about the place – unfortunate, because it coincided with his exams and he failed – to the extent that we named him Soppy…

Well, I can’t tell you. Suffice to say that it was a slang word referring to a specifically male member of the anatomy, beginning with ‘B’ and rhyming with ‘rollocks’.

Fortunately, once he realised that it was all love in vain, things settled down and we had a few very good months together. Which I shall tell you more of on Wednesday. Yes, this is a shameless teaser for that.

About Richard

Just your less-than-average married father of one
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