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Carrots are a girl’s best friend

Posted by shinymac on February 21, 2008

Let me tell you about one of the adventures from my university days. This particular one involved a friend of mine, who I am still friends with now, living to the rule that some of the friends you make at Uni will be friends for life.
One weekend, I’d gone home to my mothers, at a small town on the East Coast near Grimsby. Upon my return to Manchester, Beki informed me excitedly, that she’d met a man. This was most exciting. I was stuck in a relationship, albeit a long-distance one, that I felt wasn’t ever going to go anywhere, but at the time I was probably scared of having no-one. Beki, on the other hand, had no-one, well, no-one as in a man-no-one. She said he was called Jamie, he was in the army, and he was Scottish. Oooh, I imagined a hunk with a lilting sexy accent, and dark brooding looks, complimenting his bulging muscles. They had met at Piccadilly railway station, and he had approached her and got her number etc.
A week went by, a week during which I heard Beki’s phone ringing at stupid times in the night, a lot, and a week during which Beki was filled with excitement about seeing Jamie again.
So, he came to stay for a weekend. The house was buzzing with excitement and apprehension about what this fellow would being to a house full of girls. Testosterone maybe?
He arrived, carrier bag in hand holding his belongings. In fact, he may not have even had that if truth be told. He was short and slightly dumpy, and immediately the thought had to be pushed out of my mind that Beki could do so much better. He had to be given one chance at least right?
Beki set about doing what she does best, mothering and washing up for him, washing his clothes and making him food. Believe me, my days at University were lovely because of this girl being such a natural born mother.
And Jamie, well Jamie decided he would cook for her one night.

We sat anxiously in the living room, where we could hear chef-style chopping coming from the kitchen, and rustling about for hours. And I mean hours. Poor Beki was salivating at the sounds and smells eminating from our kitchen, and it was getting late before Jamie appeared again.
Finally Beki was presented with a beautiful concoction of chicken, carrots and potatoes and ate it gratefully before everyone else retired with rumbling tummies, to bed.
During the night, I couldn’t sleep. This may have had something to do with the hammer I had placed under my pillow. Having a strange man in the house made me feel uncomfortable, and there was something about him which gave me the creeps a little. I just couldn’t put my finger on what that something was, until this night.
From my little bedroom, which was joined onto the living room, I could hear him on the phone in the middle of the night. Our shared, split-the-bill meticulously, house phone. He was talking dirty to someone, making plans to go and stay with whoever it was, and I sat up in my bed freaking out about what would happen if I confronted him, but knowing I had to do something!
Thankfully, no sooner had I sat up in this panic, did I hear Beki rise and come marching through to the living room. I jumped up and went out to join her.
We both let rip on him together, well,¬†I just said “How dare you!” a lot, and we told him he would have to leave in the morning.
The next morning was frosty to say the least. He sat in silence whilst we went about our usual morning business, his head down, and his plans forming in his head about who he was going to prey on next. In the meantime, another house dweller discovered her already chopped frozen carrots had been devoured. Then another house dweller discovered her finest chicken breasts had vanished and the box was in the bin.
This was the final straw, and off he was packed to find a new victim. I think we informed the police, but they weren’t interested due to lack of evidence or something.
Some chef he turned out to be eh.


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