The Return of Nicky Z

Got up this morning to find that all the snow in East Lothian has magically dissapeared and has been replaced with roads of shiney black glass.

Outside my driveway gates there is a wide turning circle, so I deliberately hit the gas as I get onto the street to kick the rear wheel drive back end around. Maybe the Lexus isnt as much of a mild mannered janitors car than I had first anticipated. I know that the back of the car was sliding as I had intended because the little squigly skid sign has appeared on the dashboard in bright yellow.

I dont understand the point on this skidding sign, surely most drivers know when their car is sliding around the road, I imagine that should I ever prang the Lexus that an Airbag exploding icon will appear moments after impact.

Boogy and Dingo on the morning radio show tell me that it is snowing heavily in West Lothian, but as of yet it has it hasnt migrated East. I get to work and my Iphone indicates there is a 40% of snow by 9.00am, I tell Heather in my team this and literally at that very precise moment a flurry appears at the window. Wow, its that moment that you suddenly realise why you paid so much for your Apple device, then paid another £1.99 for that otherwise useless weather warning app.

It's also at this moment that I realise another of my team mates has been stealing pencils from Ikea, he is newly married so I cant really blame him for at least wanting some excitement in his life. It starts off with Ikea pencils and before you know it you will be competing in the flat pack challenges. Trust me, as a previous flat pack challenge winner, it's a slippery slope, before you know it you will be able to translate all manners of furniture from Swedish. I warned him about all of this before he tied the knot, but did he listen, NO. Honeymoons over now kiddo, its Ikea pencils and paper measuring tapes from here on in.

However, the main highlight of my day is that I go and meet an old school friend Nicky Z that I havent seen in about eighteen years. We have agreed that we will meet in Mathers bar in town and I suppose I'm a little bit nervous. We were good friends back then, but a lot of time has passed and people change.
I'm wondering if whether or not she is a fat lesbian now, or perhaps she has shaved her hair off and wants to be know as Norman.

Back in the day, she was a complete nutter, she would do anything the boys did and could drink most of us under the table. It wasnt unusual to be round her house when her mum was at work with a raging hangover being fed toast, Irn Bru and yoghurts until her mum got home. The boys and I would be piling out of various ground floor windows to avoid the wrath of her mum coming in the front door.

Anyways, we meet up at the bar and its just like it was when he left off, we order two pints of cider at the bar and I tell her that apart from an occasional pint of magners, generally speaking I stopped drinking white lightning, scrumpy jack, merrydown, woodpecker, rolling rock and strongbow somewhere around 1992. However, it seems appropriate that we have cider given the amount of time that we spent completely dateless on 2 litre bottles that we had somehow precured from the local off licence.

In fact, the last known memory that I have was standing on top of a car with her somewhere in Parkgrove that didnt belong to any of us, while innebriated. She reliably tells me that I'm wrong and that we met again at someones 21st party, but this isnt my recollection, but my short term memory is somewhat malfunctioned.

She really hasnt changed a bit, aged a little, slightly different accent from her time in London, but otherwise same old Nicky.

I nip to the loo, when I get back I check to make sure that she hasn't dipped my jacket pockets. Well, she was from Clerry after all, its force of habit. I restrain myself from rummaging in her handbag when she goes to the ladies. It would seem that we have both become more respectable in our middle agedness.

It's time to part company again and we take a stroll back towards the car via Princess Street. We stop briefly for a shot on the swings at the fairground, the ones that twirl you up in the sky. I get an angry row from a Jack Dingle look a like gypsy for swinging on the swing, you know the type, jaw that doesnt look connected to the face, while we are waiting on it taking off. Look mate, the clues in the title, its a swing.

Anways, we are half way up in the air, like two complete children and Nicky tells me that I haven't changed either, followed by "For example, I bet those boots your wearing are made by Timberland". I give her this point, she has a blue suede pair.

Good to catch up with Nicky Z. Heres to old times.