I knew straight away
that good living was her Achilles heel. From there on, bagging her was a
breeze. To be honest, beautiful though she was, I had no sexual inclination
towards Ingrid and spiting you wasn’t actually my primary objective. All I
really wanted her for was reflected glory. Simply by being in her company that
evening I’d attracted more attention than I’d ever done with the band - from
both sexes.”
“She’s a head turner
alright.”
“After a glass of
champagne and a couple of lines of coke, she started whining that she needed a
break from you…that she was cracking up being cooped up in that apartment all
the time. She said she needed a couple of weeks in the sun and began crying. I
remember thinking that I should wrap my arms around her, but I just couldn’t
pluck up the courage. In the end she slept in one of the spare rooms and, when
she woke, there were two air tickets to Italy on the pillow by her head. She
flew into a virtual panic and couldn’t get out of the apartment fast enough, thanking
me for the offer, but saying she had to get back to you. That evening, I was
lying in bed thinking what a fool I’d been, when someone started banging at the
front door. Convinced you’d come to beat my brains out I asked who was there
before opening it. I couldn’t believe it when I heard Ingrid’s voice. When I
opened the door, she was on the landing with two suitcases, one at either side
of her on the floor. Apparently, you’d had another one of your teatime rants
during the news, which had inevitably degenerated into a vicious, personal
attack on her.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that
bad! In fact, she started it. She said that unemployed people shouldn’t get
dole money and that soup kitchens should provide their food. I remember her
shrieking: ‘They’d soon get up off their lazy butts then!’ As if she didn’t
know that would get me going.”
“Whatever the case,
she used it to legitimise leaving you and, the following day we flew off to
Italy. I remember looking at Glasgow from the plane. Knowing that you were down
there, falling apart, while I was up in the sky with the love of your life…it
felt great.”
“You’re a sad man
Bob.”
“Keeping Ingrid
entertained in Italy required just two things: designer clothes shops and a
credit card. I myself was beginning to tire of her company. It was really hard
work, pretending to be interested in all her self-obsessed babble. But the reflected
glory of her beauty — even in Milan — was addictive. Passing catwalk models
would flash glances at me. They’d stare right into my eyes, searching for
whatever it was that made me so valuable to such a good-looking woman. After a
fortnight of this my self-esteem was soaring, so much that I felt attractive to
women for the first time. But Ingrid and the catwalk models of Milan didn’t do
it for me. It was the hookers of Naples that got my blood boiling…preferably
the bigger ones. They went out of their way to make me feel good. With them, I
got to do the talking, instead of having to listen to all that hard done to,
feminine bullshit. We stayed in Italy for another fortnight and were both
sublimely happy. During the day Ingrid got to wander round clothes shops with
me feigning interest at her every word, then, in the early hours, when she was
fast asleep, I stalked the red-light areas, indulging myself stupid. By the
time we got back to Glasgow I’d been transformed. On leaving, I’d been a lonely
virgin. Now, I had a paragon of beauty on my arm and a catalogue of up to
twenty sexual liaisons under my belt. I was oozing confidence and growing
stronger every day, while you faded into oblivion. That said, the Italian trip
had left me up to my eyes in debt, having spent nearly ten grand on my credit
cards.”
“What are you on
about, debt? Ten grand to you is like a hundred quid to most people!”
“Oh Danny Boy, you’re
so naïve…that’s why everyone likes you I suppose.
that good living was her Achilles heel. From there on, bagging her was a
breeze. To be honest, beautiful though she was, I had no sexual inclination
towards Ingrid and spiting you wasn’t actually my primary objective. All I
really wanted her for was reflected glory. Simply by being in her company that
evening I’d attracted more attention than I’d ever done with the band - from
both sexes.”
“She’s a head turner
alright.”
“After a glass of
champagne and a couple of lines of coke, she started whining that she needed a
break from you…that she was cracking up being cooped up in that apartment all
the time. She said she needed a couple of weeks in the sun and began crying. I
remember thinking that I should wrap my arms around her, but I just couldn’t
pluck up the courage. In the end she slept in one of the spare rooms and, when
she woke, there were two air tickets to Italy on the pillow by her head. She
flew into a virtual panic and couldn’t get out of the apartment fast enough, thanking
me for the offer, but saying she had to get back to you. That evening, I was
lying in bed thinking what a fool I’d been, when someone started banging at the
front door. Convinced you’d come to beat my brains out I asked who was there
before opening it. I couldn’t believe it when I heard Ingrid’s voice. When I
opened the door, she was on the landing with two suitcases, one at either side
of her on the floor. Apparently, you’d had another one of your teatime rants
during the news, which had inevitably degenerated into a vicious, personal
attack on her.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that
bad! In fact, she started it. She said that unemployed people shouldn’t get
dole money and that soup kitchens should provide their food. I remember her
shrieking: ‘They’d soon get up off their lazy butts then!’ As if she didn’t
know that would get me going.”
“Whatever the case,
she used it to legitimise leaving you and, the following day we flew off to
Italy. I remember looking at Glasgow from the plane. Knowing that you were down
there, falling apart, while I was up in the sky with the love of your life…it
felt great.”
“You’re a sad man
Bob.”
“Keeping Ingrid
entertained in Italy required just two things: designer clothes shops and a
credit card. I myself was beginning to tire of her company. It was really hard
work, pretending to be interested in all her self-obsessed babble. But the reflected
glory of her beauty — even in Milan — was addictive. Passing catwalk models
would flash glances at me. They’d stare right into my eyes, searching for
whatever it was that made me so valuable to such a good-looking woman. After a
fortnight of this my self-esteem was soaring, so much that I felt attractive to
women for the first time. But Ingrid and the catwalk models of Milan didn’t do
it for me. It was the hookers of Naples that got my blood boiling…preferably
the bigger ones. They went out of their way to make me feel good. With them, I
got to do the talking, instead of having to listen to all that hard done to,
feminine bullshit. We stayed in Italy for another fortnight and were both
sublimely happy. During the day Ingrid got to wander round clothes shops with
me feigning interest at her every word, then, in the early hours, when she was
fast asleep, I stalked the red-light areas, indulging myself stupid. By the
time we got back to Glasgow I’d been transformed. On leaving, I’d been a lonely
virgin. Now, I had a paragon of beauty on my arm and a catalogue of up to
twenty sexual liaisons under my belt. I was oozing confidence and growing
stronger every day, while you faded into oblivion. That said, the Italian trip
had left me up to my eyes in debt, having spent nearly ten grand on my credit
cards.”
“What are you on
about, debt? Ten grand to you is like a hundred quid to most people!”
“Oh Danny Boy, you’re
so naïve…that’s why everyone likes you I suppose.
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