BINS

I like Boston. I like a town with bins. Bins are important. The right amount of bins is important; not too many, not too few. That’s all I’ve got to say on the matter.

Not really. I loved Boston; not as much as L.A. but I could definitely imagine living there… Much of it reminds me of Bristol. We parked in an area called Charlestown, north of the river, just down the road from some projects, like Bubbles inhabits in The Wire. We bussed it into town and the bus driver went to great lengths explaining how the caaahrd-reader worked. This town was named after Boston, Lincolnshire which is where the unusual accent comes from… Thinking about it, it is a bit East Anglian, akin to how Norfolk folk elongate vowels and slightly roll their R’s in Naaarwich.

We got off the bus as we saw a pretty square ablaze with fairy lights in the trees, what with the cold and rain it felt like it was a wet day in December in Bristol where Darren Day or Dennis Taylor or someone from S Club 7 was about to switch on the Christmas lights. We saw the Cheers bar, and walked around Quincy markets which felt like German Xmas Markets that I’ve always wanted to go to… Best save that for junior now. I’m not sure how, but we have incredible serendipitous luck sometimes; even though we were in a touristy area, the first place we happened upon was a perfect, compact sports bar full of regulars. I don’t like Irish pubs or sports bars in England, they’re usually varnished and tarnished with the stench and discolour of vomit or afterthoughts in cinema complexes, or both, but here it feels homely.

We tried New England clam chowder which was smooth and exhilarating like a liquid fish pie and not at all like puke. We drank 16oz pints of Budweiser at $1.50 a pop while the tourists paid four times that next door. What else could a guy wish for? Waitresses serving cheap Bud, fish soup and the company of a beautiful girl. A Boston Celtics game was then beamed the mile from their home ground “The Gaaarden” to our screens and after two overtimes, they beat the Charlotte Bobcats (whoever in the hell they might be) to the rowdy Bostonian cheers of the locals.

If only it were a Red Sox game, I could have been even more baffled. Even though they are my team; I now have a pair of boxer shorts to go with my official Red Sox baseball.

I mention the price of the beer as anyone who knows me can say for sure that I cannot resist an offer like that… One or two turned into six or seven and a shitstorm of massive proportions unfolded. I wasn’t even that drunk so will never understand why girls insist that you must stop drinking when they do. In an attempt to stop us arguing yet again I picked up my bag and walked out. Hiding round the corner so I could see Natalie all the time I smoked a cigarette to give us both time to calm down. A few minutes later I walked around the building and decided to go and get her. Only she wasn’t there.

Holy mother of God.

I asked the DJ, our waitress… no-one had seen her. I ran back to the only place she could be, the bus stop with the fairy lights. Nothing. My mind exploded in a fit of anger, regret and $1.50 Budweiser… Where could she be, what had I done? She wasn’t meant to walk off… then again, nor was I.

And boy, was I drunk all of a sudden.

It’s ok for someone like me to be wandering round an unfamiliar city on their own, but not my little Natalie. I started to panic. We fell out on Koh Samui one night and she sped off home on her own but that’s different, that was our home, now we didn’t even know where our home was parked. My brain played the tricks that a parent of a lost child might play; has she been kidnapped? Is she in the boot of a redneck’s car? Or worse has she gone off with a boy?

I thought to myself I’ve lost her forever, if not physically then emotionally.

I half-ran, half-fell back to the bar to retrace her steps. Zip. Back to the square. Nada. I tried to get some money out for a cab, I think I could remember how to get home, but could she? I considered showing people the picture of her from my wallet, calling the police, then I saw her ahead of me. I think she saw me but she carried on walking. I caught up. She’d assumed I’d walked off and was well pissed. I was angry. “Never do that again” I ordered hugging her, and realised why my mother and parents all over the world, throughout mankind, are that angry with lost children.

We got a cab back and found the RV easily.

We slept like logs and all was forgiven.

She’s a very cool girlfriend to have sometimes.

I won’t leave her again.