Angie "The Hands"
There are days when you don't think that you're in the mood for love. You could have a nose full of cold and a head full of Vicks or a sandal full of dog muck and a toe full of jam... and still tumble into the arms of someone. Their eyes could meet yours and then there'd be fireworks. Sadly, with Angie, our eyes didn't quite meet, but that was more down to her squint. I was fumbling around the Scotch Eggs in the discount fridge of my local supermarket when our hands touched. We both went to grab some Tandori Chicken which had gone out of date the day before (but who believes that stuff any way), we tried to look into each others eyes and then it happened. Trying to look into both of her eyes I pulled a muscle in my neck and nearly burst a Scotch Egg with the pain. Through the pain I could see that there was more to Angie than met the eye (they were individually beautiful). She told me that, although she worked as a receptionist at the local leisure centre, she was also teaching herself how to weave baskets with fallen branches. I couldn't see, at first, how this would possibly work, but then she sunk her fingers into my shoulders and I understood exactly. She had strength in her hands that could mould stone, although when I mentioned it she seemed slightly embarrassed. Within minutes, I had been relieved of any pain and felt a warm feeling of exuberance that I don't think I have ever felt while standing in a supermarket aisle.
To thank her, and to get to know her better, I took her to Mickey's Slop CafÈ in the middle of Swansea. It was a great place, but hardly the sort of place that you would take a lady on your first date. However, I like to think that I'm unpredictable. We sat on a bench made out of the two front seats of a Vauxhall Viva and talked for hours. We talked about where we were from, our hopes and dreams. It turned out that she had always wanted to work as a receptionist at a Bingo Hall. As a veteran 'Caller' (I didn't tell her that I had never done it in a club, but instead at my Auntie June's) I told her that I knew someone who would be able to help. I gave her the number of an old flame, Lauren Bogdanzowich, who hand-painted the numbers on Bingo Balls for Smith and Jones Bingo Machines.
We clicked after a while and were about to leave when she suggested that we both go back to her place for a warm Vimto. She must have read me like a book as I love nothing more than a warm Vimto with a wild woman. We left, arm in arm and a skip in our step towards the number 53 bus stop. As we were approaching the stop she turned a colour I hadn't seen since I was kept incarcerated in Russia for smuggling packets of Sherbet Rockets. She grabbed my arm and nearly broke it just below the elbow. She told me that her husband was just over the road and was coming over. Confident of my physical prowess and skills with the fists, I winked at her and looked across the road. My memory of him is a bit hazy, but suffice to say, I thought walking/running in the opposite direction would be a worthwhile option, but Angie was clamped to my arm and refused to let go. I tried again to look into her eyes and beg her to remove her hand from my arm. My neck twinged.
When I eventually regained the use of my legs, I revisited the spot where I was the first man in Swansea to have his legs broken by a man wielding an Argos catalogue. I don't hold any grudges with Angie and I haven't met her since, although I have visited that same discount fridge on numerous occasions. I will never forget her touch and hope one day to meet her again. As for her husband, if I see him on the road while I'm driving he can give my exhaust an MOT on the go.
