Mistakes your'e glad you never made - women wise

Listening to some shite on Jeremy Vine the other day as I was driving down the A39 Atlantic Highway(who the fcuk thought of that name) when I had a sudden flashback to the mid 1970s.
Stan had just joined the Cherry B (HMS CHARYBDIS to you sprogs) up to the Cod War couple of runs ashore back in the UK then off to Gib as Guardship for Chrimbo, but home for the New Year. Down the pub a lad at 16 could get a drink in those days especially if your old man drank there occasionally. Couple of wets thinking I was the dogs knob eyeing up the local northern talent still a cherry boy but had some good ideas about what went where and what it smelled like (I'd been to Copenhagen and seen "The devil in Miss Jones") Spotted a rather charming lass bit on the size 14 size but hey ho a couple of rounds with young Stan would help her shed a few pounds I thought. Anyway a couple of snogs for the New Year and a few dates before I had to get back onboard Stan was smitten first love and all that.
Any way we saw each other everytime I was home on leave like most cheers easy fcuking idiots I would bring back pressies like perfume, fags, bit of gold plated jewelry either way I thought eventually she'd shed her gladrags and allow Stan to get to 1st base no such fcuking luck.
My older brother had just left the pusser and after a couple of weekends home he says Stan you're a cnut (we were close in those days) she's been knobbing every fcuker while you've been away ditch the bitch, reluctantly I did thinking what a waste of my LOA!
Anyway fast forward 15 years and I'm up visiting Preston (shithole) and visiting some of my old haunts when I look across the bar when there she is fcuk me 25 stone blubber bitch, but I can't restrain myself from going over for a chat, she can't remember me maybe because she has mad cow disease from the 15 meat pies she's obviously been troughing every day and is now about 25 stone. Anyway I introduce myself and she vaguely remembers me and says "Bet you wish we had stayed together hey" Fcuk my tall hat, I pissed meself and thought thank you, thank you lord, the great escape or what.

 

A mate of mine was absolutely inconsolable when his fiance left him a few years ago with only a couple of months to go until their wedding. We warned him as diplomatically as you can when someone's a bit love-blind that she was a proper fucking psycho but he wouldn't listen and moped around for years about it. Despite her regular screaming and throwing shit tantrums he thought she was the perfect woman and his destined life partner. She moved down south somewhere and was off the radar for years. That was until another mate who knew her family got in touch with some belting news.

He finally saw the light when we learned last year that she'd done time for stabbing her husband in the leg with a pair of scissors after a massive domestic. A finer 'told you so' I've yet to smugly declare.

 

One of my bezzy oppos who I joined up with ended up trapping the divsest wren at Raleigh. Much Kudos to him, everyone was mega jealous.

However the daft cunt made the mistake of getting loved up with her.

His early days at Raleigh were brilliant, he'd scran his breakfast as quickly as he could each morning and pound WOM Cheryl Cole in the heads at Traff Galley, before embarking on the days activities.

Things started to go wrong in their relationship when she PVR'd in week 6 fucking off home to Newcastle to pursue a career as a checkout girl in Asda. Without his forenoon fuck, he started to get down in the dumps. They did the long distance thing for a year or two with him spunking all his CTMs and rail warrants on trips to her parent's terraced council house.

Due to her psycho Geordie rage, he'd have to check in with her every few hours by phone, eventually he became a hermit just sitting in his cabin at this bird's beck and call. It was sickening. We couldn't even watch a film in his cabin without having to pause it halfway through so he could fuck off for a half hour "no I love you more babes" chat.

We held an intervention and dragged the fucker out on the piss, confiscating his mobile. This did not go down well with her at all. Eventually the worse possible thing happened, just as he was building up the courage to ditch her, she announced that she was up the duff.

He was pretty much forced into "deein the reet thing like" by her old man and they were duly spliced in a lavish community centre wedding complete with Iceland buffet and a bar that consisted of warm cans of Carling at £2 a pop. Luckily I managed to swerve being best man by being deployed at the time.

Phew.

Within a month of the sprog being born and them moving into a Fareham married patch, she'd ballooned to about 18 stone and starting racking up big time credit card debts in his name, purchasing wanky stuff from the Argos catalogue and rinsing the Sky package.

Eventually they split up on massively bad terms. 10 or so years on, he's paying her about 40% of his salary per month so she can sit at home all day and eat crisps in front of Jeremy Kyle. He never gets to see his kid, which she's raising in squalor with her 3 subsequent Geordie brats by 2 more dads and he's still paying off the credit cards.

He's a single Chief living on about 400 quid a month.

Mug.

Morale of the story, never get loved up with a wren.

 

My own personal swerve was more through luck than any thought or action on my part.

We'd been on an all day sesh in Guz and ended up in the titty bar. (The classier one, can't remember it's name.) Usual drill, paying massively inflated prices for bottles of beer while gawping at tits. All good fun.

One particular bird caught my eye and in my drunken state I decided I would pay £20 for a quick glimpse of her clopper in order to stock up my wank bank for our forthcoming BOST. She was busy doing the rounds with other punters so I patiently waited for her to approach our table.

She first sat at the table next to our's with some pissed up lads. Immediately they started acting like right cunts, gobbing off and being quite insulting to her. I could tell she was upset by it and she looked like she was going to cry. Sensing my opportunity I got up and said "come on love I fancy a dance."

Sensing her massive relief she pretty much dragged me away to the private booth.

"Sorted, time to see some flange" I though to myself.

Just as I was about to reach into my wallet for a score, she said "you know that was really sweet of you. We often get arseholes in here being abusive. I know it shouldn't, but it really gets to me. Sometimes I go home and cry.......You.....you... were just trying to get me away from those blokes weren't you?"

"Ummm yes?"

So instead of getting to see some clack, I ended up being a fucking stripper counselor for 10 minutes while she told me her life story and literally cried on my shoulder. She discretely took my number. (Obviously I gave it to her, I might have got the chance to plough a stripper.)

We texted a few times and arranged to go out one night, but I got turbo minging the night before and was hungover to the max. Going out on a date definitely wasn't gonna happen in the state I was in, so I fucked her off, spinning her a yarn about getting dicked for duty.

Probably for the best. Only thing worse than getting loved up with a wren is getting loved up with a stripper.