Ahem. (Coughs in a slightly embarassed manner.)
A chance encounter this evening reminded me of something that had somehow escaped my attention while I was in the grip of despond a few months ago. I hope this small effort will make up for my appalling bad manners at the time.
Almost a year ago I had a sudden irrational fixation with an unidentified young lady on a motorbike, and enlisted this website in my quest to track her down and seduce her. That was a pretty successful operation and I quickly found myself in a fantastic relationship. The poster who put us in contact goes by the handle ‘kitkat’ and we met by accident in Alleycats tonight. Of course, drinks were in order and I think that particular debt has been settled as I left her falling over drunk. Thanks a lot, babe! 
All great things have some cloud in the ointment, and this particular love affair came with one pretty terrible fly on the horizon. My bikerchick was already booked to return home when we met, and in early December we set off for Gaoxiong for our goodbyes. She was booked onto a container ship home, aeroplanes not being sufficient for the kind of personality that attracts me, and I had the dubious pleasure of waving my beloved off from the quay instead of kissing her goodbye at the airport.
Then I got into a taxi and headed to the station, with 90 minutes to kill before my train home, with nothing left but an overnight bag, a few slices of leftover pizza, and the traditional British stiff upper-lip. So far so good, but the bastard driving the taxi was obviously not satisfied with my efforts at self-control and turned the radio on.
I hate pop music, especially that soppy “I love you” shit, and he was obviously trying to break me. He nearly bloody succeeded too, and I would have lost it completely had I not thumbed desperately through my phone and come across the number of one D. Bane Esq.
Imagine getting an emotional call on a Sunday afternoon from someone you’ve met only once, and being compelled to abandon the housework in favour of an hour’s maudlin drunkenness. It’s a credit to DB that within 15 minutes of my cry for help I was standing on his balcony sucking the contents out of numerous bottles of vodka ice and pouring my heart out. What a guy.
I just want to say thanks, and to apologise to the little banes - and to that lovely lady who can’t possibly be married to such a man’s man - for allowing me to disrupt their weekend in my hour of need.
DB, you’re a gent. I don’t think I remembered to tell you that when I should have, and the only defence I can offer is that I was wrestling the depression squid for some time after and neglected all my friends equally. Now I’m back to normal, and this needed to be said.
Drinks on me when you’re next in the big city.
Because this is a family forum, I won’t tell you what happened after that. Gustav whimpers whenever he sees DB, though. 
