(HONORABLE MENTION)
My first love was called Evelyn. She was seven, I eight. She was tiny and funny, had a nose like a bird and a haircut like a German helmet. Her dad owned a sweetshop. What's not to love in that?
My second love was called Fiona. She was violent, twelve, blamed me for Scotland losing its oil to the English. I never understood why, but I knew she was angry. I learned to keep quiet.
My third love was Amanda, but she never knew it. In fact, she never knew me. She was a boarder at the girls' school, and I used to see her walking home every night. She was fourteen, I guess, and had lovely breasts. I wanted to do whatever it is you do with breasts, but I never said hello.
My first kiss was Kirsty. Enough said about that.
My first girlfriend was Emily. Emily had a horse whose arse was thinner than hers. We split up when I told her so. I knew it would happen, I'm not that stupid, but the trouble is, I thought she was going to make a play, try to do it, if you know what I mean. I wasn't ready. I was only eighteen.
Yellow, yellow, yellow.
My second girlfriend was Gillian. Gillian was a raver. Gillian said she had a congenital inability to hear the word “no,” and I believe her. That's why the farce in the back of the Fiat 127 erupted. It's not as though I didn't warn her. She just didn't hear.
The first time I had sex was a Sunday. I was thirty.
My first wife was Helen. She was short but very pretty, in a Fens sort of way. I think she loved me. She always cried afterwards, said sorry, cleaned the scratches with cotton wool. I always thought I would leave her, but in the end she left me. Couldn't be bothered waiting for me to get round to it, I suppose.
My second wife was Paula, whose kids tormented me for the eight months we were together. I wasn't very good at putting them to bed. Or getting them to stay in bed. Or getting them out of bed in the morning. They just shouted at me, hit me with their pillows, forced me out of the room. Paula called me Yellow. Started introducing me to her friends as that. Everyone seemed surprised when I walked out on her, but it felt like the right thing to do.
My first love was called Evelyn. I saw her this afternoon, at the meat counter in Waitrose. Surprised myself by saying hello. She's still lovely. Somehow, her nose has grown, and her hair's even more like a German helmet now that it's turning grey. Her dad's dead, but I don't eat sweets nowadays anyway. She's still a smasher, Evelyn.
I'd like to think I might ask her out, one of these days.
