Max's shortest love story

Max broke her personal love story record today.

The Sage and I met for lunch. Max was late (she usually is) and halfway through the main course she came half running in her afternoon heels (they're an inch shorter than her evening ones), half giggling.

She sat next to TS and gave him the biggest, longest, tongue-est smooch ever while I first stared blatantly and then pretended to remove a huge non existent pepper corn from my roast chicken. A few long, mortifying moments later S entered the cafe.

Now this S is great company the first time you meet but 2 meetings later you notice he's exceptionally hard to get rid of. He'll call you for coffee twice a day and knock on your door every time he's in the area (which, you soon notice, seems to be almost always). He'll invite himself in for a coffee and will stay till long after dinner. He'll ask if he can come along to that party you're going to later tonight.

These days I tell him I'm living in Newcastle a lot of the time. Doing a placement at Mslexia magazine. When I bump into him on the street my default response has become to say I just got off the train from Newcastle or I'm on my way to catch a train to Newcastle. It's got to a point where he doesn't even notice I have nothing but a 6 inch purse on me.

He walked in and I knew the reason behind Max's love story with The Sage. S has shown up at Max's door thrice this week and she's just about had enough. But Max being Max she can't say it to him.

TS enjoyed himself thoroughly though. After 3 seconds of shock and about 2 more seconds of pretending to push her off a wee bit he really got into it...and boy were they into it.

So guess who got stuck making conversation with S (yes, of course he invited himself to our table. He was looking for one victim and he found three!).

I thought (for a long time) that he was probably lonely. Maybe he didn't really know too many people here. I met his Spanish flatmate (s) and they seem to be having a party in their flat almost twice a week. So now we know why he turns up two days less. And turns out he's normally organising them.

Then I thought maybe he just wants some different company. So another few months went inviting him in, then struggling 6 hours later to get him out.

Now I've given up. I guess that makes me nasty. I tell myself I tried.

So we talked about the weather and his next party and his love for French girls (although I don't think he's ever really had a girlfriend. After being "single and ready to mingle" for over a year now, I sympathise completely) and who makes the best cappuccino in town (just for the record, his pick was Starbucks. Personally, I'm not big on Starbucks. I like Nero or Tinderbox better).
Eventually I went to the ladies room for a full 25 minutes (Max and TS were still glued together, taking only 4 minute gaps in between to breathe and drink some of their lemonade) I came back to find him saying his good byes (of course I went back behind the pillar till he was outside). I discovered he'd got the impression they were getting ready to leave, go find themselves a room with a bed somewhere.

So that was Max's shortest relationship to date 4 hours and 27 minutes (it was a long lunch) in total. But perhaps enough snogging to beat her month long one (with the Pakistani American exchange student) hollow.

Pictures and links: linked from Flickr, not mine so please visit the lovely photographers of these photos:

Mslexia: it's a writing magazine I love reading. Too bad its only quaterly though. You'll also find quite a bit of writing inspiration (see the New Writing section) on the website.

Newcastle: That's the Millenium Bridge, where a special someone and I walk many many nights (I'm meeting him soon so you'll read about him soon).

Intro to The Sage

Yesterday my best friend Maxine (aka Max, forensic student, glamour loving, always in trouble) had her graduation ball and so I lounged around at home for a bit, watching Olympics closing ceremony, cheering for Britain, writing furiously. Then I met my friend, "The Sage" at the bar for some good ol' fashioned drunkenness.

The Sage (so named for his beyond human ability to be effortlessly smooth and sane even when seriously drunk) is my personal, available -anytime agony aunt. Except, he's uncle. I can't remember how I made decisions before I met him 4 years back! Its nice to have someone sane around you, no?

The Sage is the man who gets drunk first and still beats us all at any booze game (he also gets us all the cabs home). He always knows when the shit's gonna hit the fan and what we should do before that. Wise beyond his 24 years, The Sage is the coolest of the cool...

"Which bag should I buy" (and other questions of a similar nature) is the only question to which I have ever received a blank stare from him, followed by a dull "idunno" . But for that, there's Max.

Celebrating summer, we went for a run at 9.30pm (its already getting dark sooner and I'm dreading the winter). If there's one thing TS is lovingly devoted to, its his daily run. When he can, he drags Max and me with him (otherwise we're the usual dessert loving, gym avoiding, crisp stuffing 20 somethings. How man y are there of the other kind?).

While running we discuss the longish trip we're planning the day my flat contract expires here. The 6th of September. As mentioned before, I live in two places. Mostly belonging in both, sometimes belonging to neither. In November I'll pack my bags and head to the cool but not cold Home Base I for a few months. The place I was born, the place I live in several months a year, the place of family and laughter. Instead of taking out a new lease, as initially planned, The Sage, Max and (maybe) a special someone have decided to go around the UK, visiting friends, appreciating this place we call home and don't really bother to explore. How awesome is that gonna be!? TS and I have another month before we graduate though, so for the first half of the trip (we hope) we'll also be working on our dissertation.

After a massive dinner (TS cooked. I'm a trainee chef in his kitchen, I only do the dishes) we head to Corynthian, catch up with some friends from uni, get drunker than we care to admit and walk home with aching feet and an exceptionally good mood...you know, it was one of those pleasingly tipsy evenings...

Sometime before we doze off we call Max, have a slurred conversation with her and pass out before we've cleared the bed (TS wakes up at some point in the night and clears it so he can finally rest his head on a pillow instead of my copy of Staying Alive: Real poetry for unreal times). Max drags us out of bed at 3.30pm for some breakfast and all the gossip from last night.

Tomorrow I'm meeting my dissertation supervisor and I have nothing new to say to him. I half panic but still go with Max and TS to his place in the West End where we'll spend the day playing on the Wii, cracking bad jokes, planning the trip. That's a good life, eh?