Love: A Messy Business Read Free Page A

taken the wrong way and rushed to clarify.  “I mean, that’s funny that you thought I knew your name, not that your name is Love…”
    “Don’t worry! I knew what you meant and, besides, I’ve had to live with my surname all my life so I’ve pretty much heard it all, believe me.   It seems to be quite impossible to take a flight without a flight attendant telling me that “Love is in the Air” once we take off – they always think they’re the first ones to ever think of it.  It used to bother me so much that I used to take the stairs rather than the lift at my first job.”
    “I’m sorry, you’ve lost me…”
    “You know…that song by Aerosmith….Love in…an…”
    “Oh, of course.  “Love in an Elevator”.
    “You’ve got it.  There was one colleague at work that would watch out for me getting in that bloody lift just so he could start singing that chorus. What a wanker. I can laugh about it now though.”
    “Well, that’s a good attitude to have.  I’m afraid I can’t compete with your surname – mine’s pretty dull…Boswell.  My nickname was Boozewell at university for...err…for obvious reasons.”
    “I think I can guess.  And now you’re working in a pub.  Seems like a pretty logical career move, if you ask me!”
    “You must be joking.   I didn’t get twenty grand into debt from four years at university to spend the rest of my life serving beer to a bunch of no-hopers.”
    Realizing that she had said that just a little too loudly, she added, somewhat lamely, “No offence everybody.”
    “None taken,” replied Mick, laconically, who was sitting in his usual seat next to where Colin was standing.  “The light at the end of the tunnel was switched off for good when the pit was closed down - thanks to Margaret bloody Thatcher.”
    Wisely, Colin decided that now might not be the best time to pull out the Conservative Party membership card from his wallet for general inspection.  It might just get ripped up, and he along with it.  But he couldn’t resist making a comment.
    “But, that must have all happened twenty-five years ago or more, thirty even?”
    “June 16, 1987.  Twenty seven years, eleven months and three days.”  The date and the event were clearly etched in Mick’s brain.  “And there are some people in this village who haven’t worked since.”
    “It’s all market forces though, isn’t it?  If the mines had paid their way, they would still be open. Survival of the fittest and all that.”
    “Wouldn’t expect a bloody Southerner to understand ‘owt…” replied Mick, who finished the rest of his pint, banged the glass down with some venom and quickly walked to the exit.  His original idea of making a further point by banging the door loudly behind him was of course scuppered by its uncooperative hinges, so he had to be satisfied with a shake of the head and a meaningful glare as he squeezed out.
    “Are there any more of my customers you’d like to annoy this evening?” asked Kate, a bit tartly, although she wasn’t really too upset.  Mick was a terrible tipper and he had drunk his one and only pint of the evening.  He’d be back to do the exact same thing again tomorrow.
    “Ah, yes.  Awfully sorry about that.  Didn’t realize it was such a touchy subject.”
    “Really?  Then you don’t know much about this part of the world then, do you? 
    “I’m afraid I don’t.  I’ve lived all my life in the London area - Tunbridge Wells as a matter of fact - and this is my first time “oop North”.  He ended with a pretty terrible attempt at a northern accent, which Kate was too polite to comment on, preferring to get a little dig in of her own.
    “Yeah, I could tell you’re from London way by your accent.  I bet you got a nosebleed when you got north of Watford Gap, didn’t you…”
    “Nosebleed? No, I didn’t get that, but I think I may have picked up a few lice up here though.”  He scratched his armpit apishly and with