Rather like many a first date when you fumbled around for the right words to say after your 8th pint had slipped between your lips and the girl across the other side of the pub started looking rather tasty and attractive, so started the romance between a certain Mr. Scolari and the Chelsea fans, of which I count myself one.  You really wanted to believe after your first love had broken your heart and thrown away the gray overcoat and medals that you had bestowed upon her, after a seemingly no-win power struggle with your rich and powerful Russian step-father, that true love was back in your heart and a walk down the aisle, followed by a everlasting honeymoon would follow – Luis was the one. 

Since your step-father had come onto the scene he had always wanted to control your loves.  True he had come into your life unexpectedly, yet deliciously he had promised to shower you with the best gifts and best friends to win your affection, and let’s admit you were there to be bought, after years and years of on-off relationships, you were ready to commit and he was ready to deliver.   First he got rid of the silver-haired Italian, you still had feelings for that one, but when he bought the smooth and suave Portuguese “special one” to the ball, you were blown-away.  The step-father showered the “special one” with gifts and admiration and you looked on with teary emotion and joy as the world jealously and lustfully glared at you from across the room.  Just as soon as a marriage for the centuries looked on the cards, the carpet was pulled away, the step-father had decided that the “special one” was no longer worthy of your affections, that she had taken your eye away from his greatness and generosity and now he was going to treat you to the ugly sister.  You cried, you stamped your feet, you threatened to turn your back on his generosity, you even sung out the “special ones” name in your sleep, but it was not enough – the step-father would win, he always had!

In the interim you must admit that you had slipped into a rebound situation with the ugly sister who had been sitting across the other side of the room for the past few months twiddling her thumbs and flirting her eyes, hiking her skirt and whispering sweet promises in your step-fathers ears, all the while promising you all kind of treats if you dumped the attractive Mediterranean sister and just give her the chance,  It was clear she “did not know what she was doing”, but somehow she kept you a little entertained and teased, and even showed you the family jewels of her mega-rich step-father in Moscow before cruelly snatching them away when you felt them in your grasp – such was your rage, anguish and humiliation that you dumped her within 48 hours of that cruel trick – tears flooding down your face in the Moscow rain.

Summer passed without a love, promises and love notes between a gray-haired Welsh ex went back and forth, but nothing materialized, apparently now the ex has moved on to a Arabian relationship, which may be on the rocks.  Maybe an Italian caught the eye, or even an old-Swede known for his roving interests, but in the end the attraction of a pure yet mature Brazilian caught the eye and was just too much to resist.  Though still in a relationship with his current partner, you stole him and promises of riches from your Russian step-father were too much for him to resist.  He was even given a current member of his entourage before he arrived to join on the defensive front, and another exciting yet more mature model soon to follow. Promises of domination and thrilling times were surely ahead, at last we were dating super models again! Entertaining, attacking, – a flirty, attractive, big busted, super-model was on our arm – but, when the girl arrived, we soon discovered after the initial honeymoon and the 8th pint had slipped into the 12th and the morning after headache had passed into more rational and sober thought, that the super model laying next to you was in reality the girl next door – we had been duped and now the rich Russian step-father was having a little trouble making his mortgage payments and we could not buy ourselves out of this relationship.  In fact, your step-father didn’t seem to care anymore.

Where once we had been promised attacking, sweep-off-the-feet romance of attacking marauding moves, silky one-touch skills and meaningful penetration, coupled with free-flowing ball movement we ended up with stagnant sideways play, slow deliberate movement and where once we had been able to unbutton and remove the blouse of the opponents with one hand, we were now stumbling over the first button while working with two. 

“Beautiful, attractive, stunning” were the words on a sunny August afternoon, you heard echoed, when the relatives from the seaside turned up, and were promptly dispatched with a display of supreme technical skill and artistry – ahh, life was beautiful and the world knew it too, you had the most beautiful girl on your arm and you were proud to show it.  Romance was blissful, and a view from the top of the mountain was clear, and blue – just like her eyes! A few weeks later and a trip onto the continent – a dirty weekend if you will – and somehow the relationship didn’t cement, maybe the crafty Europeans had tainted the water or maybe she had begun to put on a few pounds, either way there was no spark, but you put it down to just one of those days and vowed that her shiny eyes and sophisticated style would be back on show when back home. 

Home though, wasn’t as planned, the 5 bedroom detached gated community mansion was soon turning into a 2-up and 2-down semi in the middle of Slough!  The roof had a leak, the termites were eating away at the wood trimmings and the plumbing meant that showers were more often cold than hot.  Yes, there were days when the short skirts, stockings and heels were showing off a side of her you still remembered and yearned for, but more often than not the comforts of home had turned into a pie and mash dinner followed by the Ten O’clock news and the lights out.  It seemed that once the make-up and the mascara was removed that underneath the wrinkles and the cellulite was showing and the other girls in the neighborhood, who once had admired, who once had made jealous cat-calls and comments were being proved right.  The French couple across the way scorned and joked lustfully that there was only one way to play and clearly the Brazilian didn’t have it.  The Spaniard neighbor (one who you may suspect have trouble paying his mortgage over the next few months with his opulent American partner),  though known for his boring and conservative ways, argued that you seemed lost in the neighborhood  and really needed to try a new approach.  While the Scot who had recently been forced into a shotgun weeding with an American from Tampa cried from the rooftops that the silver dollars from his bride across the pond had proved more lasting and valuable than your step-fathers rubles.

Invited into your house, you expected to show the neighbors a great three-course meal, a sophisticated and exhilarating night out, a sexy partner one who pleased and flirted but played to win.  In the end the big and brassy neighbors, the one with the Bentley’s and Ferrari’s came over and not only enjoyed the spread on offer but also took the cutlery and silverware home and you even ended up flirting with their partners who seemed more qualified and adaptable than your new missus.    You then tried sending invites out to the working class neighbors, those from East London, the North East and Lancashire.  Admittedly, they pulled up in the minibus, the value of the neighborhood devalued as they entered into your gated community, full of the riches and pleasures life has to offer.  She dressed to please, the hair, the dress, the shoes, the meal all exceedingly well-prepared, or so we were led to believe.  When she went out to meet them, the working-class neighbors simply parked the minibus outside in the driveway and refused to come in – and while the meal was prepared no-one was eating.  You begged her to try another tactic, maybe wear another dress, new shoes or even a new hair-do, but the now middle-class Russian step-father wouldn’t pay for it, not even an alteration or a borrowed outfit was available.  She kept putting on the same dress, the same shoes, the same hair, the same make-up, the same dinner and no-one came to visit and play, no-one came to watch and in the end it seemed as if no-one cared who the attractive girl on your arm was.  The step-father wouldn’t return the calls and the girl who had once seemed so attractive, so delicious and so exciting, had evolved into Enid Sharples with the rollers and net cap…she had no ideas, no new thoughts, no new dresses to wear… she has to go!

More to follow…

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