by Jamie Jones
I did my best to smile and stay out of the way but by 11pm, my cheerleaderesque girlfriend had wound me up just one notch too many with her constant talk of “having an amazing time”:
Me: ‘The only way this is amazing, is that its amazingly bloody awful. It’s cold, boring and we are miles from the river. We should have stayed in the pub.’
Sam: ‘Only you could moan about tonight Jay. You do realise THIS IS THE MILLENIUM EVE!
Me: ‘Thanks for shouting, I wasn’t aware of it until then. You’re right, now I know what eve it is for sure, I can go back to my patch of frozen woodland and enjoy myself.’
Sam (now bouncing up and down and sporting an inane grin, like a kid on a pogo-stick who has just swallowed his elder brothers secret stash of E’s thinking they were smarties): ‘Come on misery guts, just let loose and enjoy yourself. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Just enjoy tonight.’
The sheer unrelenting positivity flowing out of her had caused a nervous tic to develop in my right eyelid.
Sam: ‘This is history right here. You love prattling on about history, well here we are, right in the middle of a historic event.’
Me: ‘Are we bollocks! We’re standing in the cold waiting for £100,000 of taxpayers money to be wasted on 10 minutes of fireworks. That’s all we are doing.’
Sam (still disconcertingly bouncing up and down): ‘You know what, Jay? When we first met, I thought your miserable git act was hysterical. I was convinced it was a performance and even when I realised it wasn’t, that it really was your personality, I thought, ‘He will end up having fun nights out with me and will drop the moody stuff”. You know what though? You are a miserable, self-centred, pathetic twat and I don’t know why I even bother trying to make you happy.’
Me, now cracking up with laughter after her outburst; ‘That’s superb, Sam; you can’t beat a good character assassination to end the millennium.’
Sam: ‘I’m sure Morrissey would approve of you ending the millennium in a bad mood while everyone else is having the time of their lives.’
Me: ‘Don’t bring Moz into it.’
Sam: ‘Why not? You bring him in to every other bloody aspect of our lives.’
Me: ‘Oh just piss off and enjoy yourself.’
Not my wittiest ever conclusion to an argument but the ending of her bouncing, and the hangdog look on her face was an indication that I was in danger of ruining her big night. Despite my complaining, that was the last thing I wanted to do. Well actually the last thing I wanted to do was to be stood under a tree, 100 yards from the Thames in the cold, but ruining Sam’s night was the second to last thing I wanted to do.
I looked at my watch, seeing it was 10.45pm, and made the mental calculation as to whether I could get to Kings Cross and back to Peterborough before midnight. It was impossible and I silently cursed myself for not bringing that inevitable argument to a head an hour earlier.
Sam and I didn’t speak again until five to midnight, when I decided that I had better apologise and not start the 2000’s in the middle of a row with my girlfriend. I offered up a paper thin apology and tried to smile sweetly. She gave me a low level scowl to indicate ‘this isn’t over’, before kicking back into cheerleader mode and urging our group to remember this “never to be forgotten moment”. I mistakenly thought she meant me apologising but, as the chimes of Big Ben blasted out from the speakers spread along the embankment, I realised that I was, possibly, being a little self-centred.
I would have left it there. I had made my apology and wanted to get on with the night. Unfortunately, a now clearly inebriated, Sam couldn’t resist biting back:
‘Don’t pretend that you’re enjoying yourself Jay, we all know you’ve spent the night wishing you were back in Peterborough with your mates.’
Me: ‘What? I just apologised even though I had nothing to apologise for in the hope that we could have a decent end to the night. Just get off my case will you and get on with enjoying the, “Never to be forgotten moment”.’
Sam: ‘See this is what I mean, you’re impossible. I was just saying to the girls…
10
…I can’t do this anymore….
9
…..I can’t put up with your….
8
…Morrissey obsessed miserable bastardness…
7
Me: Are you going to….
6
….finish with me here…..
5
…That would be mental, even for you….
4
…..what a night this is….
3
Sam: Oh just piss off….
2
…. Just go away……..
1
…you miserable c…..
HAPPY NEW YEAR
The dawn of the new millennium had saved me from being called a c***.
Conversation over, I walked over to give my old mate Jacko the obligatory new year hug, just as Sam was leading the rest of our group and some bemused American tourists in a dog-eared version of “Auld Lang Syne.”
In fairness, the firework display across The Thames that night was pretty spectacular. As with every firework display I’ve ever been too though, 30 seconds after they had finished, everyone was stood around wondering what to do next.
After much shrugging of shoulders and group discussions around “what shall we do now?”, we decided to head back to Covent Garden tube station and see if any pubs were still open along the way. I walked ahead, still outwardly projecting my first bad mood of the new millennium, whilst giggling inside about almost being called, what we in Peterborough call, a ‘Cambridge United Northampton Town’, as the clock struck 12.
As we trudged towards Covent Garden, the darkened streets resembled the scene from a post apocalyptic film, with debris from the night everywhere but with very few functioning human beings around. All the pubs en route were closed and the people we did meet, who no doubt half an hour previously were delighted to be in London celebrating the new millennium, were now furious that no pubs or, more importantly, tube stations, were open. We were left with no option but to wearily trudge the mile and a half to Kings Cross.
I strode on alone, well in advance of the group, Discman and headphones on. My bad mood dissipated as I was walking along the deserted streets of London with Morrissey singing “Now My Heart Is Full” in my ears. They say whatever you do on 1st January, you will do for the rest of the year, well walking alone whilst listening to Moz for a whole year would have been a dream come true.
It dawned on me during that walk that the only part of my life that was getting me down was my relationship with Sam. As the rain began to fall, my alcohol addled mind began to wonder what had become of the girls I had gone out with in the last decade. In such moments I convinced myself that they were all off having a joyful and exciting life. Amy would be in Australia with her fella, having followed her sister out there, suntanned and putting another shrimp on the barbie. She wouldn’t be thinking of me or every so often drawing the curtains, putting on Suede’s ‘Coming Up’ and drinking a bottle of port. Jo would have gone to live on a hippy commune, listening to Ozric Tentacles every day and surrounded by peace and love. Kate, Jess and Vicky would all no doubt have gone on to find happiness and told their partners about this speccy, Morrissey obsessed prat that they once had the misfortune to go out with.
I had to give up daydreaming at that point, as I’d reached Kings Cross only to find that the last train to Hitchin was leaving in 5 minutes. As I had walked on ahead of the group, I had to scream at them in my foghorn voice to ‘Hurry up, the train’s going NOW’. As I stood watching them all pound the streets like Linford Christie, I focused on Sam and decided that I wanted to give our relationship once last try. I wasn’t sure it could work or even if I really wanted it to but I figured it was worth giving it a go.
We piled onto the packed train as the doors were closing and due to being squashed into whatever space we could find, I didn’t get to tell Sam
my grand plan on that leg of the journey. Upon reaching Hitchin, amid a flurry of hugs, we all said our goodbyes and Sam and I began the mile or so walk back to her house.
This was my big opportunity.
Me: ‘Sam, I just wanted to say…..’
Sam: ‘Whatever it is Jay, I don’t want to hear it. I’ve had enough of you tonight. You just can’t help spoiling things can you? I honestly think you might be mentally ill. You’re so certain that bloody Morrissey holds all life’s answers that you can’t think for yourself anymore. You know he probably doesn’t mean most of his lyrics don’t you? I bet he sits there writing them, chuckling to himself and thinking: ‘This is a load of meaningless rubbish but my div fans will lap it up like it’s an extract from the bible.’ He is just putting lyrics in to fit a tune but all over the world there are thousands of idiots just like you who treat his every muttering like its an inspired message from God. Why don’t you go and find one of those female idiots? Go and live miserably ever after.’
Sensing it was not a good time to tell her that I wanted to see if we could patch up our relationship, I opted to walk on in silence. When we got back to her parents’ house, she opened the door without saying a word, pecked me on the cheek, said “Goodnight” and weaved up the stairs to her bedroom. I headed to the downstairs guest room and pondered my options. With so many thoughts emerging like blisters on my brain, I couldn’t settle, so decided to make a point of going upstairs to her, apologising for my moodiness, talk about our future and maybe even have a quick new millennium bonding session.
I quietly made my way up the stairs until I got to the top step and could clearly hear that Sam was on her mobile phone to someone. Being a nosey git, I decided to have a listen to her conversation rather than interrupt her. It quickly became obvious that she was talking about me and our relationship to someone I presumed to be Claire. I spent a couple of minutes listening to Sam’s half of the conversation:
‘It’s about trying again but making it better……… I know we can do it…..…..I just need to talk to Jay.
I know what I want, I know how I feel….…..the last few weeks have shown me exactly what I want…….….I need to sit Jay down and tell him.
I can’t deny how I feel any more……. I will tell Jay in the morning and everything will be fine.
At that point I was thinking, “Wow, she feels the same as me about trying again.” In fact she sounded far more hopeful of our relationship being able to work than I was. To be honest, I was a bit concerned that she was going to propose to me the next morning, so enraptured did she sound with our relationship.
I tiptoed back down the stairs, safe in the knowledge that the old charm had worked it’s magic on Sam. I borrowed a can of lager out of the fridge and drifted off to sleep listening to Tindersticks “Simple Pleasure”, content with the world and all that it was set to offer me in the new millenia.
I slept soundly until a fully dressed Sam woke me at 8am by shaking my shoulder so violently I was worried it would dislocate.
Sam: ‘Wake up, Jay. I’ve been awake for hours stressing about this. We need to talk, I have something to tell you.’
Me (knowing smile on my face): ‘Ok sure, jump under the covers but I warn you, I’ve still got my lucky Elvis socks on so can’t be held responsible for my actions.’
Sam: ‘You’re not going to make this easy are you?’
Me: (laughing) ‘It’s fine, come on I think we’re both thinking the same thing anyway, just spit it out.’
Sam: ‘I don’t think we are Jay. Ok, well…. Look…. There is no easy way to say this…so I’ll just say it…… I’m finishing with you. It’s not you or your miserableness or Morrissey obsession, it’s me, I’m going back to Steve. I still love him. I always have done and I need to go back to him. I’ve met him a couple of times in the last week, nothing happened though, I promise, but we talked and….well, we both miss each other and know that no other relationship comes close to ours. I’m really sorry, I don’t want you to be upset but, let’s be honest, we both knew that “us” wasn’t going to last forever didn’t we?’
Me: ‘Sake, give it a rest, next you will be telling me he’s the ‘Ross to your Rachel.’
Sam: ‘You what?’
Me: ‘It doesn’t matter. Wait a minute…. SHIT ME, SO THAT’S WHO YOU WERE ON THE PHONE TO LAST NIGHT!’ – I dramatically threw off the duvet, to reveal the sight of my Elvis boxer shorts, which matched the socks.
Sam: now looking confused: ‘What…how did you know…’
Me: ‘It doesn’t matter now, does it? Can you pass me my jeans please?’
She sat in silence, as I dragged on my jeans and “Viva Hate” t-shirt then pulled on my Adidas Samba Specials.
Me: ‘Right, I can talk properly now I’m dressed. Well fuck me, Sam. I knew we wouldn’t last forever but the first day of the new millennium? You pick your moments!’
Sam: ‘I know my timing isn’t great but…’
Me: ‘Jeez, even on 1st January 2000, that may just be the understatement of the entire millennium. What a “never to be forgotten moment” this is turning into. When people ask me at parties in years to come; ‘So Jay, what did you do for the millennium?’ I can say that I stood next to a freezing cold river boring my arse off and then the next morning my girlfriend decided to pack me in and go back to her ex-boyfriend.’
Sam: Trying to inject some humour into the situation; ‘Come off it Jay, you never speak to anyone at parties.’
Me: Being unnecessarily mean: ‘Trust me luv, you do enough talking for the both of us at parties.’
Sam: ‘Well, you won’t have to put up with my incessant talking any more will you? You can spend all your time with your mates at the football or going to bloody gigs or if neither of those are available, you can do what you do best, sit in your bedroom listening to soddin’ Morrissey.’
Me: Now pulling on my coat: ‘Look, this is pointless, I don’t have anything else to say and you’ve made it crystal clear where you stand. Keep my spare copy of “Strangeways Here We Come” that’s in your stereo, it will give you something to remember me by. You can keep that bloody awful green shirt you bought me for Christmas, which I wore last night just to keep you happy. I’m not into the leprechaun look but, by all means see if Steve likes it, if he can squeeze into it. Right, I’ve said all I needed to say, have a nice life.’
I reached the bedroom door in one step, and the front door in a couple of quick strides before she hit back:
‘That’s it, run away, don’t talk. Just run away back to your beloved Peterborough, with your mates down the pub, your crappy football club, and your Smiths CD’s. Go on, sit on the train listening to Morrissey tell you how miserable you are……’
I imagine that Sam carried on talking as I opened the front door but I’d already got my headphones on and was setting out on the walk back to the station, to take the train back to my home city and my mates down the pub, while Morrissey gently sang “Everyday Is Like Sunday” just for me.
About The Author
Jamie is a 38 year old father of two whose wife has made him store his CD collection in the loft.
“I Blame Morrissey” is loosely based on his experiences of love, life and using Morrissey’s lyrics to help him through his formative years. The obsession with Morrissey is, unfortunately, very real and he has the tattoos to prove it.
Jamie’s wife would like to point out that, had he told her the tales contained within this book prior to their wedding, she would never have married him.
“I Blame Morrissey” is Jamie’s third book and his first not based on his beloved Peterborough United FC.
Supporters List
Mum & Dad, Adrian Durham, Emma Ivison, Sinéad, Rob Tylee, Erika (Jamie’s Sister), Nick Edwards, Doody, Joanne Price, Luke Harman, Neil Gillett, Pim Van Heuven, David Harwin, Stefan Krix, Sam, Davide Platania, Claire Weston, Joolz, Mr Size, Dave Fitzjohn, Anisa, Frank LeVulgar, Tom Marley, Lorna Carsley, Paul 469 Marlow, Anthony Tobin
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