Rule Number One

In which The Author learns a new karaoke song

On Friday night I put a status on Facebook, saying that I wouldn't be online very often before New Year. It's partly true: I don't have Internet access at home; Aberdare Library will be closed for at least four days over Xmas and two over the New Year break; the Cloud is hit-and-miss in the pubs; my free gigabyte of mobile data is still going strong, but the signal in my house makes it pretty much redundant anyway.

I also said that I wouldn't be texting anyone for the rest of December, because I'd spent enough topping up my bloody phone this month. That was a blatant lie, aimed at Chazza in particular. In fact, I've still got a substantial proportion of my three thousand free texts to use before New Year's Day.

The truth is that I'm frankly fucking sick and tired of Chazza's blowing hot and cold in direct proportion to the amount of alcohol in her system. I won't import any more content from my secret blog, but I will quote one long extract and two shorter ones from an entry I wrote ten days ago.

Soon after that [on a Thursday evening], Chazza walked in with a huge smile on her face, waving a piece of orange paper for all to see. It turned out to be her employment contract with KFC in Cardiff, starting this week. I bought her a drink by way of congratulations, and the four of us chatted by the bar for a while. When it started to fill up, we went to sit by the jukebox. Phillip and Clare didn't join us, because one of their friends was already there with her chavvy boyfriend. I don't like either of them, so we decided to grab a small table and have a catch-up instead.

One of the chav's mates started hassling Chazza when she was by the bar, and she told him she already had a boyfriend. Needless to say, the fuckwit thought she meant me, and the situation started to deteriorate as the evening wore on. I wasn't in any fit state to sing anyway, as I've had a stinking cold for weeks. The atmosphere was quite unpleasant, so we baled out en masse at about 9.30 and headed for the relative sanity of the Prince.

Clare was ensconced with Gareth the DJ, so we didn't want to cramp their style. Instead, we parked ourselves at the bar and chatted to Ross [an old mate of mine from the Carpenters days who'd turned out to be Chazza's uncle] for a while. He was pleased to hear of Chazza's new job as well, and the drink was flowing quite freely by this stage.

Bear in mind that – apart from some very light flirtation – I'd never even been tempted to make a move on her. I'm not into stealing other people's girlfriends. So you can imagine my surprise when she leaned over and whispered, 'If I wasn't seeing Paul, I'd totally fuck you.'

It's a wonder I'm not on a diet of soup and energy drinks at the moment, because my jaw hit the floor with considerable momentum. I glanced over her shoulder to see if Ross had heard, but he was engrossed in his music.

I didn't say anything straight away, because I thought it was probably the drink talking. It still came totally out of left field, though.

After Chazza went home, I was still reeling from that bombshell. I didn't tell anyone else what had happened, though. It was almost beyond belief anyway.

On Friday night I was in the Cambrian when Clare messaged me to say she was in the Fforchneol (known locally as 'the Bonki'). It's a big old pub halfway to Stereophonicsland Cwmaman, which I've never been keen on. Gareth does the karaoke there on Fridays, which is why Clare no longer comes to the Cambrian. She and Phillip had had a bit of a falling-out, so he was on his way to town. She wanted to know he'd have a bit of company, so she was checking I was there.

Before he came in, Jenny the barbint asked me where the rest of the gang were. I told her Phillip was on his way and Clare was in the Bonki. Jenny seemed a bit surprised, because (like a lot of people) she'd assumed that Clare and I were an item. I disabused her of that notion, and then told her what Chazza had said the night before. She was almost as thunderstruck as I'd been.

Phillip came in soon after, and joined me in the corner. We hadn't been there long when Chazza came in with a chap she's known since school, and joined us at our table. When Jocelyn [the karaoke hostess] asked me if I wanted to sing, I initially said 'no'; this bloody cold still hadn't shifted, so I didn't feel up to it. However, they twisted my arm, so I decided to give it a go. Bearing in mind that Chazza was moving to Cardiff, I decided that 'We Got to Get Out of This Place' would be the perfect song for the occasion. Naturally, when I got to 'Girl, you're so young and pretty', I gave her a wink, and she blushed.

She and her friend went walkabout after one pint, and I didn't stay long after Phillip went home. It had been a long couple of weeks.

I was in the Glosters having a glass of Coke on Saturday afternoon, and texted Chazza that I'd miss her once she left town. She texted back, saying that it was a really nice thing to say, and asked me if I was in town. Then she rang me, sounding very hung-over, and said she was on her way up to Aberdare. She was catching the 3.50 train, but had an hour or so to kill. I suggested going for a late lunch, so we repaired to Servini's and sat at the back while she recovered slowly from a very heavy night. I said I knew how she felt, because I'd been none too clever on Friday morning.

'Oh yeah, we both had a few,' she laughed. 'And I still remember most of it.'

'Even a rather random comment at the bar?'

'With my uncle standing right behind me!' She blushed again, and then looked at me. 'I meant it, though.'

I’ve got to go to Cardiff before Xmas anyway, so we can catch up soon. But I’m still feeling a bit fazed by the whole thing. If she goes through with her plan to kick Paul into touch after her birthday, I might leave it ‘a decent interval’ (as they used to say) and then play my hand. At least this time, I know I stand a decent chance that my notional bank balance will stay the same.

PS I hadn’t even had chance to post his before Chazza texted me asking if I could meet her today (Thursday). She didn’t say too much, but she seems to think it’s over between her and Paul. I replied as soon as my phone came back to life, to say I was sorry and offering to treat her to Curry Club in Thereisnospoon this evening.

I must admit that I did a mini fist-pump as well, mind. Watch this space.

Well, she might have meant it with a hangover on a Saturday afternoon, but things definitely changed during the week. Entirely without my permission, I'm going to quote a full entry from my other blog, written last Friday, to fill in the background here.

Yesterday afternoon, Clare told me that Chazza had changed her status to 'single' on Facebook, and shared a recent song which apparently girls only sing when they've been dumped. (I was none the wiser, of course.) Then she posted a status asking if anyone could give her a lift from Penarth to Aberdare. The plot was thickening.

There were no fewer than four karaoke events in Aberdare last night: the regular two at the Lighthouse and the Bush, plus one-offs in the Cambrian and the Prince. Clare and I decided to check them out in turn, and I texted Chazza every time we moved from one to the other. I didn't get a reply, so while we were walking to the Cambrian I tried ringing her. It rang for ages, and then I got a recorded message saying that the person was unavailable to take my call.

Anyway, Phillip had joined us by this stage, so we decided to return to the Prince. Clare had the bright idea of walking past the Bush first.

'I bet she's in there with some random boy,' she said (a little ironically, in my opinion).

So she had a peek through the window. The place was full of the usual suspects, so there was no way I was going to cross the threshold anyway. But (unless she was in the ladies') there was no sign of Chazza. I didn't bother texting her again.

This afternoon Clare told me Chazza had put a status up earlier on. She had a new phone number, and was asking people to message her their numbers. I messaged her to ask if she was OK, told her I was getting concerned, and added my number at the end.

That was about two hours ago. Since then I haven't heard a word.

At least I know why Cash Generator is always full of smartphones, though. Young girls must go through them at the rate of at least one every two months, if they have to change numbers every time they get their hearts broken by some immature commitment-phobic playa.

Clare asked me a few weeks ago why I don't watch soaps or Reality TV. I said, 'With you and people like Chazza in my life, I don't fucking need to! Your lives are fucked up enough for anyone's entertainment.'

I really wish I could share a meme I shared on Facebook about a week ago, but it's fucking impossible to find it again. (Note to Mark Zuckerberg: Sort your shit out!) The gist of it, though, was this. Boys text and say, 'Wanna chill?' Men text and say, 'Are you free any time this week? I'd like to buy you lunch.'

Go figure …

Anyway, last Sunday night the Spectrums were playing their last local gig of the year in the Cambrian. Andrew L., the keyboard player, was in school with my brother, so I've known him for over thirty years. Together with his son (who plays bass) and a crew of talented younger guys, Andrew is finally playing the music he's always wanted to play – the post-Punk, New Wave and Electropop music he grew up listening to. It's stuff I love, too, so I made a beeline for the front of the room. Phillip joined me; Jazz and Tommy Sticks came in a bit later; and then Anna E. came in with her 'gentleman friend', having driven down from Swansea for the gig. She didn't seem to be in a very good mood, especially when I told her I was keeping a seat for Chazza.

The girl herself was making her way up from Cardiff by train, so I wasn't expecting her until about 8.45. She'd drawn the short straw – working a Sunday, when the trains run every two hours, and missing the earlier one by a few minutes. Understandably, she wasn't very cheerful either; she was still in her work uniform (but with a change of clothes in her bag) and wasn't wearing any make-up. I bought her a pint, introduced her to the rest of the gang, and we settled down to watch the band.

Except that Chazza didn't settle down. She finished her drink and asked me if we could go somewhere else, because she wanted to talk to me. We headed to the Prince, grabbed our usual table by the fruit machine, and she told me that things weren't working out as she'd hoped they would. She'd decided that she didn't want to stay with her boyfriend. In addition, her new job had turned out to be a zero hours contract, and the couple of hours she'd worked that week had barely covered her train fare.

She was totally skint, and hadn't eaten over the weekend. I subbed her a couple of quid just so she could to get to work. In the meantime her phone kept ringing, and she kept rejecting the call. On the fourth attempt, she showed me the caller ID. Needless to say, it was Paul. We had a pint, and I bought her something to eat from the fast food place opposite.

While we were in there, though, something very strange happened. While we walked up Boot Lane, we must have gone through the Rift and ended up about two hundred miles to the east. Instead of talking in her normal voice, Chazza was suddenly possessed by the spirit of some Urban Yoof from Sarf London. She kept calling the guy behind the counter 'bro', and 'blood', and stuff like that. I was starting to think that she'd found her way into auditions for another sequel of KiDULTHOOD, and I found the whole performance a bit embarrassing.

In fact, I was quite relieved when Paul phoned her yet again, and she decided she'd better have it out with him. I made my excuses and left, grabbing another pint in the Prince before returning to the Cambrian in time to catch the end of the lads' set. I was making my way from the bar when Anna confronted me. It seemed that an evening of musical nostalgia and old friends had done nothing to lighten her mood. Our brief conversation went like this.

'Was that the girl you were waiting for?' she demanded.

'Yeah.'

'She's young!'

'I know.'

'She's fat!'

'She's a bit chunky.'

'She's ugly!'

'Fuck you!'

And then I got into an argument with Karen, to round the night off perfectly. She wanted to go to the Bush for a late one; I said I'd rather castrate myself with a rusty Stanley knife. So I made my excuses and left again.

I kept my phone on when I went to bed, as I had a funny feeling I was going to get a call. And, sure enough, at about 1.30 Chazza phoned me. She was still upset with the way her life had turned upside down, and wanted a shoulder to cry on. I told her what Anna had said, and how pissed off I'd been. I know Anna and I have been friends since we did our A levels, but that doesn't give her the right to slag off my friends – especially when she's only known Chazza for five minutes.

Anyway, on Monday morning Chazza texted me, wanting to know if I was around town. I was in the library, doing some work on the Plaid Cymru blog, so I offered to meet her for lunch. She also asked me to remind her what Anna had said the night before. I relayed the conversation again, and she thanked me for defending her. Then she totally contradicted herself by saying 'We're just mates!'

We had lunch anyway, and Chazza told me how conflicted she was with the whole Paul situation. She told me that she wants a baby, but he isn't keen on the idea. I told her she's got plenty of time to worry about that. For the time being, she'd be better off concentrating on her music and trying to break into the circuit. For fucks's sake, she can't even decide whether she wants a boyfriend or a girlfriend. In fact, I suspect that – like many young people I know in Aberdare – she's simply addicted to sex, and it doesn't matter a jot who she's doing it with. However, to judge from her rather strange text earlier that day, she won't be doing it with me any time soon.

She also asked me why Clare and I were spending so much time together. I told her that we get on well, we make each other laugh, and she's good company when we go away for a day.

'After all, it gets her away from her brother for a while, and gives her a bit of intelligent conversation as well,' I said. (Believe me, intelligent conversation can be very hard to find in the Valleys.)

'She's just using you,' Chazza said. 'I don't want to see you getting hurt.'

'Not going to happen', I reminded her. 'You can't break someone's heart when it's still in pieces. I haven't even found all the pieces yet, never mind started sticking them all together again.'

We finished up and I walked her over to the station, then headed back to the library to finish what I'd been doing. Needless to say, Clare came in shortly afterwards and dragged me to Performance and Cock-ups. While we were waiting for Gareth to set his gear up, I told her about the events of the previous night, and the rather odd turn the conversation had taken over lunch.

'She's just using you,' Clare said.

Fax from Miss Pot for the attention of Miss Kettle? You decide …

And that's brought you pretty much up to date. Pretty much.

Except that on Friday afternoon Chazza texted me to ask if I'd be out for the Cambrian karaoke. I told her that I was Xmas shopping in Bristol (which Clare and I'd been planning to do anyway), so I wouldn't be back in Aberdare until just before midnight.

Now, the beauty of a mobile phone – especially if you haven't enabled Facebook Check-in or Twitter Locations – is that you can be absolutely anywhere within reason. In reality I was in the Glosters, having a quiet pint before Black Friday really got under way. But my virtual stroll through Cabot Circus and the old quarter was a totally believable diversion.

In the early evening, I joined Phillip for karaoke (Clare, naturally, has made the Bonki her new weekend home), so we were chatting before Jocelyn set her gear up. I told him I'd lied to Chazza, and said I probably wouldn't be sticking around. At about 6.00 the jukebox kicked into Default Mode, blasting out the sort of Thrash Metal I used to listen to when I called to Bogiez for my Saturday evening after-work pint. It was fun twenty years ago, but the genre seems to have stalled there. We made our excuses and left – Phillip to the Lighthouse, and me to the Prince.

Of course, by now everyone who'd finished for the holidays had piled into town, and everywhere in the town centre was packed to capacity. They were serving beer in polycarbonate mugs in the Prince, and the barbint couldn't work out how half a pint could fit into a half-pint plastic. I decided not to waste my time, and headed to the Glosters for one. I could barely push the door open, as there were so many people in there. I walked back to the Cambrian, and found Phillip finishing off some fried chicken in the car park. He'd taken one look in the Lighthouse and decided against it.

We found a small table near the front, and chatted to Jocelyn while she set up her gear. Inevitably, of course, Phillip had only just sung his first song when Chazza strolled in, with Leanne and her uncle Dai and his new partner. I smiled at her and said 'Hello', but they walked straight to the other end and sat down.

'Busted!' I said. Phillip and I laughed and carried on chatting. Chazza got up to sing 'Price Tag' by Jessie J, and didn't acknowledge me at all when she walked past to rejoin the gang. When I went for a piss about five minutes later, they'd all gone.

Later on in the night, I sent this Tweet:

Rule #1: The Doctor lies. As for me, I'm just joining in the fun, because every other fucker has been doing it for as long as I can recall.

I haven't replied to any texts since, except to arrange to meet Shanara for lunch tomorrow. In Cardiff. And that one isn't a phone spoof – it's a real change of scene. After all, I haven't got any credit, have I?

And last night, at Lindsay's karaoke night in the Glandover, I tried out a new song: 'Hot and Cold' by Katy Perry. It needs work, but I'm keeping it up my sleeve for the next time Chazza and I are in the same pub at the same time.

And that was the end of the story.

Except that Chazza has literally just texted me to see if I fancy a pint. Good thing I'm currently at the Colstars Xmas concert, eh?