chriswparker

Many years ago, I was a DJ, well less of a DJ; more of a drunk, with a record collection. Well CD's. Who could generally find the 'play' button in time, and could nearly always pick the next tune well. I digress. I was a DJ, in Malia, Crete. My friends in the UK would love to believe I was surrounded by beautiful women 24/7. Maybe not quite 24/7. But things would get out of hand. One night an old friend came into the bar, bringing her friend, who took a liking to me. Cool. Some fooling around and the hint of a hint of a promise for later. Then the Irish girls came in, their last night, only to confess one of their number had a crush on me. Cool. My friend's friend had gone. So more dancing and flirting. Elaine came in, and I was sweet on her, so I kept dashing up the bar to try and charm her with my dry Lancastrian wit. And then Brenda came in, my mature Dutch occasional lover. And then my old friend's friend appeared again. And the I was running round in circles akin to the circus plate spinner it would all end in tears, and one by one all the plates started to wobble, and eventually fall to the ground. I ended up in the 24hr bar later, nursing a Budweiser, a Jameson's and a slapped face.

God doesn't like me. We've been at war for years. Though it's stuck at a stalemate. He can only defeat me by coming down from the heavens and smoting me himself, at which point he will have proved his existence, and I win. I spent many a night in Crete, 5am, top if the mountains, yelling at God, telling him to come down and face me. Coward.