My Legendary Girlfriend Read Free

excuse of a weekend I had in store for myself.
    ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ squealed Sonya. ‘We go there every week.’
    ‘Don’t you think we look eighteen, sir?’ asked Emma.
    For the first time during the conversation I recalled what had alarmed me so much in the first moments of our encounter. I knew them to be fourteen-year-olds, but the girls trailing after me were far more worldly than their biological years indicated. Emma had squeezed her frankly over-developed chest into a bra top, barely large enough to cover her modesty, matched with a short silver skirt. Sonya wore a lime green velvet cropped top, combined with an incredibly short blue satin skirt that, whenever she moved her upper body, raised itself an inch higher, instantly revealing more thigh than was strictly necessary. Pulavi had opted for a pair of leopard-print hot pants and a sheer orange blouse, through which her black Wonderbra was clearly visible to the world at large. I was truly mortified.
    I thanked them again for the cigarette and rapidly conjured up a girlfriend I was in a rush to get home to. This was exactly the kind of moment which Fate liked to introduce into my life, to let me know there was still plenty of room for things to get worse before they got better. The girls began giggling and in a matter of seconds reduced my self-confidence to zero.
    As I entered Wood Green tube station I checked my back pocket for my travel card. It wasn’t there. Neither was it in any of my other pockets. Trying not to panic I rapidly developed Plan B:
Try not to dwell on how much it will cost to replace travel card .
Buy one-way ticket to Archway .
Do not even consider worrying until 7.00 a.m. Monday morning .
    It was some moments before it occurred to me that Plan B was flawed by the fact that I had only sweet wrappers and pocket fluff to my name.
    It began to rain as I put my card into the cash machine and punched in my Pin number: 1411 (the date and month of my ex-girlfriend’s birthday). I checked my balance – £770 overdrawn. The machine asked me how much money I wanted. I requested five pounds and crossed my fingers. It made a number of rapid clicking noises and for a moment I was convinced it was going to call the police, make a citizens’ arrest and eat my card. Instead it gave me the money and asked me in quite a friendly manner – as if I was a valued customer – whether I required any other services.
    On the way back to the tube, I passed Burger King on Wood Green High Street. Emma, Sonya and Pulavi were inside, waving at me animatedly from their window seats. I put my head down and did my best to give the impression that I hadn’t seen them.
    At the station I bought a single to Archway and placed the ticket in the top pocket of my jacket for safe-keeping. As I did so, my fingers brushed against something: I’d found my travel card.
    I reached the southbound platform of the Piccadilly Line just in time to see the back of a tube train flying out of the station. I looked up at the station clock to see how long it would be until the next one. Ten more sodding minutes . When it finally arrived, I sat down in the end carriage, put my travel card and ticket on the seat next to me where I could keep an eye on them and promptly fell asleep.
    The train lurched into a station with a jolt, awakening me from an incredibly gymnastic dream about my ex-girlfriend. While mentally cursing the train driver for cutting short my reverie I looked up in time to realise I was at King’s Cross – my stop. I grabbed my bag and managed to squeeze through the gap in the closing doors.
    The second part of my journey on the Northern Line, as always, was uncomfortable. All the carriages were so littered with burger wrappers, newspapers and crisp packets that it was like riding home in a rubbish tip on wheels. The only pleasant event that occurred was the appearance of a group of exquisite looking Spanish girls getting on at Euston. They chattered