As I trailed on Monday, Dave the Dentist moved in with Helen and I after winning a contest that really wasn’t a contest for the vacant room. And on the whole it worked out pretty well. Bear in mind that, to that point, I had only ever lived with my parents, Helen, university flatmates that I fell out with so badly that 2/3 of them never spoke to me again, and Soppy Sarah.

On the whole it worked pretty well. It must have been daunting for him, moving in with a couple, but he never showed it and hopefully he was never uncomfortable being around us.

He was also unintentionally hilarious. For example, Helen and I accidentally developed a routine whereby she would call me from the kitchen if I was in the living room – at the opposite end of the house – with him. I would then leap from the sofa and sprint to the kitchen as fast as I could. Dave thought that this was evidence of me being horribly henpecked, when in fact we did it just to watch the expression of bemusement that used to cross his face.

Then there was the time that Neil and Sue came to visit. They were friends of Dave’s from way back. There was a great wine bar around the corner from our flat called The Nose (sadly, no longer there) and the three of them, unknown to Helen and I, went there for the evening. A bit later, we also called in there – we didn’t go very often, what with being skint and Helen being teetotal anyway – and were surprised to bump into them.

But not as surprised as we were the next morning, when Dave and Sue appeared in the kitchen wearing dressing gowns and looking very sheepish. It turned out that Neil had had to leave early – I forget the reasons why – and had asked Dave to look after Sue. Which he had done, by taking her to bed with him.

In fact, returning to the north west had definitely returned Dave to his laddish roots. He began meeting up with all of his old pals from Oldham on a Friday night, which gave rise to one of those weird catchphrases that flatmates seem to revel in: “Friday night – out with the lads”. He even reverted to his old nickname of ‘Spags’, which we never did get to the bottom of, despite his hints that it had something to do with an unhealthy attitude to spaghetti.

Oh, and he also broadened our education. Not only was he prone to leaving pictures of dental diseases about the place, he also introduced us to the phrase ‘on the blob’. I’m not even going to explain that one.

About Richard

Just your less-than-average married father of one
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1 Response to SoppyRollocks

  1. Pingback: Dave the Dentist, the Denoument | The Memory Blog

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