Mates. We love them, but... sometimes...

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He was pissed when he turned up.

 

He pressed the buzzer to the upstairs flat, which gave that slightly sick sound as it always did. Like an old man who cant quite control his arse and accidentally squeaks out a wet fart. 

 

Everyone was upstairs and shit faced too, so it took a few wet farts from downstairs before anyone noticed the buzzer. 

 

She picked up the knackered phone thing to answer it, putting down a beer and still holding a joint that she’d forgotten to actually smoke when she’d rolled it, probably half an hour ago.

 

When she picked up the phone thingy, she didn’t actually say anything, she was still thinking about something else. Couldn’t quite remember what. The other two were still chatting away about something in the living room.

 

‘Let us in then’ came a slurred voice. It was Tim. She didn’t say anything, just pushed the button to let him in.

 

She liked Tim.

 

He was one of those people, you know,  just said it like it is. And most of the time, she did the same.

 

The other thing she liked about Tim was that most of the time, no one knew what either of them meant, even though they thought they were being perfectly direct.

 

Most people just took both of their comments as being accidentally stupid.

 

She also liked the fact that when he was pissed off, he took it out on inanimate objects rather than insulting someone directly. 

 

These insults, if you can call them that, were usually, as she took them, quite a clever defence against class stuff.

 

Rather than addressing the issue with some kind of long-winded debate, or a standard argument, they made the point in a couple of words. 

 

The thing was, most people missed his point. But she didn’t.

 

He was her boyfriend’s mate, that’s how they met.

 

Her boyfriend, unlike Tim, liked long-winded debates. He quite often had a bee in his bonnet about something or another, and was prone to bouts of moroseness and malcontent. Which is probably too fancy a way to put it.

 

Basically, he would sulk a lot and look very intense.  

 

Tim, on the other hand, would address situations when he felt socially awkward, or a bit lesser than whoever he was with, by insulting something else.

 

The whole group was in that awkward ‘phase’, if you can call it that.

 

Late 20s, on the cusp of middle class but all with working class backgrounds, trying to pick up hobbies like cycling, walking in the country, fancy picnics involving too much prosecco, growing veg, discussing local breweries etc., but who all, at the end of the day, hadn’t a fucking clue what they were on about. 

 

Some previous examples of Tim’s outbursts when addressing the aforementioned situations he found himself in were as follows, so you get an idea; 

 

Throwing crackers out of a mate’s window on the 15th floor of his apartment block because they were too posh (I think they had cracked black pepper on or something)

 

When one of his flat mates got irritated that he hadn’t cleaned the fridge and had put some of his left over takeaway in the wrong section, he said nothing until leaving the kitchen with an over the top swagger shouting

 

‘Oh my gosh my goats cheese’ in an exaggerated posh English accent.

 

He called a particularly pretentious couple they knew a picnic basket. Because, well, they’d organised some punting day and had packed a picnic in one of those wicker baskets like you assume Gatsby would have.

 

You get the picture. 

 

Anyway, she’d always got the sentiment, and found it funny. 

 

So, on this particular night, Tim turned up at the flat with a few on board.

 

Their mate John had come round to tell her and her boyfriend some news. They’d all had a decent amount of wine and smoked a decent amount of green when Tim arrived. 

 

She was attempting to make potato gratin. Which was proving difficult for the reasons stated above. She’d basically grated a raw potato and dipped it in egg. Most of both items were splattered over the kitchen wall rather than in the pan. 

 

So, anyway, Tim came upstairs and settled down with a tinnie on the sofa. By settled down, kind of fell onto the sofa with a pack of tinnies. He also declared he had some news, and came straight out with it, as usual.

 

'I've met some bird on Tinder, we're going to meet up. She's called Helsinki' He slurred

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'Helsinki?' She asked, leaving the mess in the kitchen and taking a drag of her joint

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'Nah, I can't remember her name, she's from Helsinki'

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'Right' she said

 

So, John, her boyfriend's mate, he’s the one who came round with the news which had now been derailed by Tim.

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John was one of those people you can’t help but like.

 

Funny, intelligent, has a great job, lovely house, awesome wife, notices everything about everybody with empathy.

 

He was also annoyingly not annoying because he was a complete scruff, liked a joint and a beer, and gave the best hugs. Like every time you see him, he looks genuinely happy to see you. You know what I mean. 

 

So, skip to the end, his news was this. Like everyone else they knew, he was having a baby. First time dad. Super excited. 

 

And they were all happy to hear the news. Genuinely.

 

However, she knew what Tim was thinking. The same thing she was thinking.

 

Her relationship was on the rocks, her partner knew it too. She couldn't cook, her flat was tiny, Tim was single and drunk, and John had just pissed all over his Tinder news by doing something better. 

 

They all toasted John's news. Her and Tim gave each other a look.

 

She want to the kitchen under the premise of finishing off the gratin (a suitably middle class meal she thought) which as previously mentioned wasn’t going that well. 

 

Tim also decided to hide in the kitchen 'to help'. It wasn’t a big flat, there weren’t many places to go. 

 

They both stood there in silence looking at the mess. They didn’t say anything about John’s news.

 

Tim looked at the ‘gratin’. He stirred it a bit and got a lot of it on his t-shirt. He opened the kitchen draw.  

 

They both looked at the state of Tim's T-shirt and the filthy kitchen in silence and frustration.

 

Tim's only response was, angrily

 

‘Have you even got a fucking potato masher?’

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They stared at each other with an angry glare for a couple of seconds.

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Then they both burst out laughing.