The wee Indie Fan across the street is back now for uni. I hadn't realised he'd gone until I passed him on the street and he asked me all the gossip over the summer. Turns out he knew as much as I did. (I think he might read this blog). He asked why the sweaty metallers moved out.
I told him it was lady trouble.
He laughed and said: "Was it over yer doll that sang for them? You'd tap her alright, she wasn't there because of her voice that's for sure."
Then he did some weird oos and aas that sounded like her only more in tune.
Then he said that a fitter doll had moved in in her place. He saw her this moring going out for a jog.
"Lovely thing," he kept saying.
I think he might have got his hole for the first time over the summer because now he's talking like he's Crocket and Tubbs rolled into one big cherry tying ball of spunk.
"Is there a guy there too?" I asked.
"Not that I've seen," he said. "If there is he won't be too hard to see off."
Yes he's had his hole. Lucky boy. I just hope he doesn't get his legs broke by the new girl's man (if she has one, if she hasn't it might be me doing the leg breaking).
