First dates.

No, NOT my first love.

I once drove a femme to Hollywood Hills near Belfast to look at the city lights and get a bit frisky with her, we admired the view for all of three seconds before things got hot and steamy, however half way through the proceedings there was a knock on my steamed up side window, I wound it down and there was a rozzer standing there shining a torch in at us. He asked what were we doing and I replied..”Oh, only necking Officer..” He said “Well, put your neck back in your trousers and drive on please sir…”  oooeeerrrrr 😉

Whoever called it necking was a poor judge of anatomy – Groucho Marx

The very next time I took her up the Hollywood Hills (that’s not an euphemism BTW) we were in the car gently necking when she suddenly jumped. I said what’s wrong and she said there was someone moving outside. It was dark, the darkness being the reason why everyone went there but by the moonlight she thought she could see something or some shadow moving quickly across the street, and then another and another..

I turned around to look thinking she was seeing things, after all, it was here that the policeman had stopped us in out tracks but I couldn’t see anything. So I told her I saw nothing and proceeded to carry on snogging with her when she let out a big scream and pointed out the window. I turned around and was surprised to see these black shadows sprinting across the road. I thought Shit! (and nearly did exactly that in my pants) when suddenly there was a knock on her window. We both jumped out of our skins and looked over. Standing by the door was a solider in camouflage with his face and hands blackened out. Then I clicked what it was, it was one of the army undercover patrols, they go off on patrols for three or four days at a time, keep a very low profile and watch certain areas for terrorist activity and provide intelligence. So that was what she saw running across the road, it was a group of soldiers out on patrol, all blacked out and running across the roads from field to field.

The soldier asked to see some ID, asked what I was up to, ‘admiring the view’ (obviously!) and he checked my number plate and then just disappeared, like a ghost. After that we were both too spooked and left, I just didn’t trust them, for all I knew the soldiers might have been sitting across the field watching us with night-vision scopes.

So she quickly dumped me, thought I was jinxed and I dated this girl who worked for the Bangor Spectator, the local rag  erm ..newspaper. Nice enough girl, a redhead – no hair, just a red head,  but between thou and I, the only section of the Spectator I red was the astrology section. I was 19 and a bit naive.. I followed these horoscopes religiously until she spilled the beans and told me that they all took it in turns to write the daily horoscope, it was like punishment for them if they had annoyed the editor, most of them had a list of 20 or 30 bland horoscopes and they would just pick 12 at random and shove them in the paper.

The other thang she said was that the photo at the top of the page of Gypsy Meg was actually just the staff photographers mum with the scarf over her head, he gave her a few bob just to use that photo.. Up to that point I read about 20 horoscopes each day and did a cross bench quantitative analysis of them all even before I will get out of bed…unless it is Friday the 13th and then I don’t even bother trying to get out’a bed..  Like I said, UP to that point..

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