What happened on Saturday?

I should be writing about my most recent Ultimate Yogi week. I should. It was compelling, I’m getting stronger, but unfortunately I also bailed on two days. Day one, my gal pal was coming to visit my new house for the first time, and day two I was too hungover to function. My brother had to pick up dinner for me and deliver it to the sofa; I wasn’t half in a bad way.

Those of you who know me, I’m not a drinker. Not a frequent one anyway. In my group of friends, I’m known as Two Drink Radford, because my alcohol tolerance is so low. One New Years Eve I managed to expel sausages from my nose, after which they dubbed me ‘The Nasal Mincer’. I drank heavily at Uni, until I realised that it actually really isn’t that cute, I felt like shit ALL the time and I was fat and broke. Not the best combination.

On Saturday I went back to true, Nasal Mincer form. It was actually quite impressive how much I threw up, but that doesn’t compare to what happened before it. Not even close.


I saw The Horrid Ex out, a lad who I had split up with yeaaaaaaaaars ago. The last time I saw him, I was equally inebriated in a horrible bar in Derby and I went over to say hello, he looked me up and down and blanked me. That night I saw another old flame who solely flirted with my best mate in front of me. It was a hit bank holiday, made even shitter by horrible boys and cheap sambucca, which surprisingly ended in me decorating the floor an aniseed grey.

The Horrid Ex was my college sweetheart, the first guy I ever loved, and I was with him for about 3 years. He was tall, had a slight lisp and really loved acting like a total nob with me. I ran a house drama play for my school and my play won, so he bought me a box of Chinese and rented all of the Star Wars films for the weekend. We went to Amsterdam, just the two of us. His family were the nicest posh people I’ve ever met. He came on holiday with my family.

He would abandon me on nights out to get with other girls, occasionally in front of me. He would slate any creative thing I did, without so much as a second thought. He would never take no for an answer. He would criticise my body, to the point that I couldn’t get changed in front of him anymore.


He ruined my life for two years.


So seeing him on Saturday wasn’t really my idea of a good night, but I suffered a kind of moth->lamplight effect. I knew it would hurt, I knew he would singe my wings off and burn me alive, and yet I sat with him for an hour whilst he talked about how pissed off his new girlfriend was at him.

It’s fair to say, I snapped.

After we shared an awkward, incredibly garbled catch up of our lives, I began the onslaught. I stood up, a mouth full of anger but a body emanating calm serenity.

“Admit you are a terrible person.” I repeated, louder and louder, whilst jabbing him in the chest with my finger. He refused at first, but after repeat 30 I think he realised I wasn’t letting up, so he capitulated. He bought me a drink, which I drank, much to my refusal and dislike. We were talking about jobs, obviously he’s very well employed and I was recently made redundant, so the slight self-loathing got the better of me. He said, “That’s my girl,” as I downed the jager-bomb. Almost as a knee-jerk reaction to my utter revulsion, I legged it to the ladies and efficiently emptied the contents in my stomach all over the toilet floor.


People often don’t tell you what it’s going to be like when you see the person who irrevocably changed your life. They never say how it’ll make you feel, or what you’ll do afterwards. I think if I had been sober I would have been scared, panicked, deeply anxious about how I looked, as if his opinion still remotely mattered. But I was drunk. I had a voice, and a mind, the girl that accepted him holding her best mate up against a wall in a club was long gone, and who had replaced her but the girl he tore down and built herself up again. The girl who can stand on her own two feet, look at him directly in the eye with no anger, no fear, and say finally “I don’t care about you.”

I don’t care if I see him again. It isn’t relevant to my life anymore. I am no longer broken and in need of cigarettes and alcohol to give me a feeling of self-worth anymore. He was more than horrendous to me, but it’s made me this passionate, loving, resilient person and if anything I should be grateful.

So if you are reading this, Horrid Ex, don’t worry, I have gone through and edited all my work like you suggested. I hope your jet set life brings you all the things you have ever wanted in this world and more.

Fuck you.




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