I’m holding on for tomorrow


April 21st 1996

I have successfully made it through the muddle of the last few days. To summarise these are the main issues I have had to address:

  • Him – He has moved out, gone home for recovery, postponed His exams. No more contact allowed.What a pleasant way to end a 3 year relationship.
  • Uni – A meeting with my course leader about my ’emotional well being’.
  • The B.I.P – we had to do our presentation. Ben with his broken leg, myself a broken person, Sophie the glue trying to hold it all together.
  • 4 other final course work deadlines.
  • Some serious revision catch up.

All this has been achieved on a diet of Marlboro Lights, Pro-plus and an old Blur album that I rediscovered in an attempt to escape to the rose-tinted past.

Not ignoring the power of friendship. Maisie and Rhys have listened to my endless, depressing, soul-searching over hours of cheap wine and cheesy nachos. Harry has given up her bedroom floor so that I can sleep away from the house that I shared with Him. Ben has ensured that my studies have stayed on track, forcing me to meet with tutors and disclose the emotional mess my life has become.

Onwards and upwards.

Tonight is my first venture out socially since The Idiot Episode. Harry is coaxing me back out to civilization. A few beers in the Taf and then who knows? I’m not overly keen but need to just get on with life and stop wallowing in His misery. It’s a right struggle.


I did it. Went out, saw some familiar faces, had a few beers, managed a smile or two. It was an uneventful low-key evening until the journey home. Harry had her Dad’s old car so, because we could, we decided we just had to have a curry in Canton. The novelty of having transport created the curry craving and there was no way we could even entertain the idea of sleeping until we had filled our boots.

It was late when we left the curry house. The journey back across town was a flurry of traffic lights, Oasis anthems  and spicy fumes. Then suddenly, as we drove up City Road, Harry slammed her brakes.

We could not believe our eyes.

There was a body in the road.

Ruth was the bravest. She was the first one out of the car whilst myself and Harry sat paralysed with dread. Always good in emergencies Ruth pushed her way through a group of gawpers and peered over the corpse. Still sat in the dark car, unable to move, we watched as she busied about motioning orders to incredulous bystanders.

After what seemed like hours we tentatively stumbled out of the car not sure of what we were getting ourselves into. Ruth had to explain to us that the body wasn’t dead, the poor guy had too many lager tops after finishing his coursework and had collapsed in the middle of the road. Most of the Cardiff night traffic had swerved away from the ambiguous obstruction. We, like fools, had stopped and we were now being sucked into this unfortunate little drama.

Dead Man’s mates were begging us to drive him home. They had been trying to move him for hours(apparently), they were nice, trustworthy guys (by all accounts) and they would buy us a drink next time they saw us (yeah right!!!). We were kindly souls deep down and they won us over. Looking at their predicament from their perspective it did all look a bit dire. We resorted to squeezing in Dead Man and one spokesman in the back. A comfortable journey it was not.

Whether it was the moonlight, the banter or the booze the three of us girls independently came to the same conclusion on that journey through Cathays.

Dead Man was lush!

Even with his head lolling about semi consciously there was a definite air of a long-haired Brad Pitt about him.

Brad Pitt

Really? Or had we imagined it?

The three of us couldn’t be mistaken surely? I suppose we will never know.

A great distraction though.

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