The time has come for another meeting with Mr Grey. I for one cannot wait to see the next movie. Lads, can we all calm down for a minute. It’s not an Oscar Winner, it’s a bit of fun and it’s the very easy-on-the-eye Jamie Dornan for crying out loud. Dakota is an absolute beauty too and is sending women running for the gym apparently. I’ll try to remember that as I stuff my face with buttery popcorn and chocolate on Friday night. You have to live like.
I’ve read all the books and I enjoyed them. I actually blame my cousin Michelle. We couldn’t have a conversation without her mentioning good old Christian. He was her book bae. I was intrigued, nosey and bought all three books. I immediately loved them. Easy reading and total escapism. I genuinely liked the way it was written. Yes it was a little contrived and repetitive but it was a nice break from the absolute head melters I was forced to read throughout my degree. A bit of light reading was always welcome.
That summer we booked a girly holiday. Myself, my sister and our two cousins (who are also sisters). It was the year of the Euros and “the lads” were off galavanting in Poland cheering on the boys in green so we decided to make the most of it and book a little trip ourselves. Benidorm was the location of choice. A truly gas place full of stags and hens. Kind of like Blackpool with sunshine, or so I’m told (I’ve never been to Blackpool). We had a brilliant holiday.
We had a little ritual where we would sit by the pool in the morning and someone would head out to the shop for lunchables. Soup, fresh bread, ham, cheese and crisps. Don’t ask why but it just worked. We were terribly civilised and even sat at the bloody table to eat it for God sake. I love that shit.
One particular day I was bet in to my book (50 Shades Of Grey) and said I’d follow the girls up in a bit. One thing lead to another (not in that way) and before I knew it I was snoring by the pool. The sun beating down on me as I slept like an angel.
Except I wasn’t an angel at all was I? I was lying by the side of the pool, asleep, having read a considerable amount of PORN. That’s what the book is if we’re honest. It’s a bit of civilised and acceptable porn.
Sometimes sunny places get windy. This was one of those days. As I slipped in to a deeper slumber I started dreaming about a Scottish accent. He was tall, a bit jarred and he was standing over me shouting something at me. Oh no wait, I absolutely wasn’t dreaming and there was in fact a Scottish man standing over me saying something at me.
He was talking very loudly because, well, he was jarred. I remember it as clear as day. The sound of his voice (and what he said) echos in my memory far more often than it should.
“SODDDDY, EXCUUUUSE ME, HALLOOOOO…. Yourd BUKE IS BDOKAN. LUKE (points) AT’S All OVER The PULE”.
Eh, WHAT? I jumped up and could not believe the vision which lay before me. The small “intimate” pool in our complex was scattered with pages from my book. Pages which had sporadically removed themselves from the book’s cover. The ground, grass and water displayed pages upon pages of pure and utter filth.
I did what any decent human being would have done. I casually made my way to the pool and gathered up the pages. I’m no litter bug. I put my sarong on and strutted past the group of Scottish lads who were sniggering at the situation. They were on to me. They knew I had been sitting there reading THAT book.
I held my head up high and walked to my room with a bit of a swagger because when one is mortified one must up the swagger game and pretend as though nothing has happened.
I’d get over the embarrassment eventually and it was nothing a bowl of soup and crips roll wouldn’t turn around.