Diary of a Grumpy Old Git (23 page)

This afternoon I told Jo I wasn’t going to the party, and I think she was upset. Actually, I have no idea if she was upset or not. She never gives anything away. But what if she was? What
if she’s going through the exact same thing as me? What if she’s writing a secret diary about her feelings for an older man in her office? After all, she was the one who started it with
that Valentine’s card. It was probably ironic, but what if she really meant it?

I tried to take my mind off things by watching a film tonight. I browsed through all the film channels I subscribe to, and at first it looked like good news. There was
Arthur
,
Get Carter
,
Straw Dogs
and
The Wicker Man
. All movies I wouldn’t mind seeing again. Unfortunately, they all turned out to be appalling remakes. Who exactly
are these remakes for? Do modern filmgoers find they can’t follow the plot if the actors have outmoded clothing and hairstyles? They have no problem believing that costume-wearing vigilantes
can defeat criminal gangs with their homemade utility belts, but show them a pair of flares or an unruly sideburn and you’ve lost them.

Josh came over this morning to tell me that Trevor thinks I’m doing a great job on the brochures. He said this was a terrific example of someone taking ownership of an
account, and he was glad someone had been listening to his talk about co-opertition.

On the surface, it seems strange that Trevor should flit between threats and praise, but I think it’s just another childish bullying tactic. If you punch someone in the arm every time you
pass them in the school corridor, they learn to expect it and it stops having an effect. But if you randomly alternate between punching and friendly greeting, it’s much worse. It’s the
hope that you might not get hit or your brochure copy might not get rejected that really gets to you.

Jez reminded me about the party before he left today. I told him I’d changed my mind and that I wanted to go. I was looking at Jo today as she fumbled her pretend glasses around. Then she
looked over at me and I turned back to my screen. I’m sick of all this. I’ve got to ask her if she’s interested. And Jez’s party could be my last opportunity for a
while.

Yes, it will probably end badly. Yes, it will make everything at work awkward. But I’ve got to do it. Life is not a rehearsal. Though if it is, I’ll be sure not to start watching
Lost
again in the hope that it leads up to a satisfying conclusion.

I’ve just bought eighteen cans of lager, a crate of red wine and a bottle of vodka. Now it won’t matter how much gets nicked, I’ll still be able to get
trollied.

I’ve just had a thought. What if I make a start on all this booze now?

The only times I’ve ever managed to get anywhere with women have been when I’m plastered. So what if I start tucking in to all this now? I’ll probably wake up in Jo’s bed
tomorrow morning with a huge smile on my face.

Is that a good plan?

Probably not. But it’s worth a try. I’ll start with the vodka.

It’s one in the afternoon and I still have absolutely no idea what I did last night. I think something terrible happened, but I don’t know what.

I’ve got to go now. It’s going to be difficult for me to write between the bouts of vomiting.

I had a flashback while I was throwing up. I was dancing to ‘London Calling’ by The Clash. I think I’d chosen the track, and everyone was dancing too. They
were having a great time. Maybe I actually had a good night. Maybe nothing terrible happened after all. Excuse me a minute.

Another spew, another flashback. This one wasn’t so good. I was talking to Jo. It was much later in the night, and I was clutching a half-empty bottle of vodka. Sorry, I
mean a half-full bottle of vodka. Must try to be positive at times like this. I’m not sure how well I was explaining myself, but she didn’t look pleased.

Oh Jesus Christ. I made a move on her. I actually tried to snog her. I lunged forward, turning my head and opening my mouth. Imagine the vodka reek that must have been leaking out. No wonder she
pushed me away. At least I’ve remembered what the terrible thing was.

I think I’m going to be sick again, but why? I’ve already barfed up everything from last night. Maybe I agreed to store somebody else’s food in there for them.

That one was just stomach bile. Soon I’ll only have this thumping headache and crushing humiliation to cope with. I had another horrible memory while I was chucking all
that up. I was sitting on a sofa and watching Jo snogging a man of her own age. I think I was crying for some reason. Jez was sitting next to me, and forcing me to drink a pint of Coke. So
that
was the terrible thing.

I’m just dry heaving now. Can someone tell my stomach that there’s nothing else to come out? Perhaps it would like to stop telling me to rush to the bathroom to mime
throwing up. This is a hangover, not a drama workshop.

The last flashback I had was really strange. It was much later in the night and I think…

I think I was snogging Jen.
Jen!

Did that really happen? Did she even go to the party? Or am I remembering an alcohol-fuelled dream?