It was about the time that this photo was taken. No, actually this is too early.
This photo is more like the right kind of time frame. Apparently the time when I had no neck...but a half decent tan. It was about the time when I could still get on the bus for 40p with my student card and the time when the most that I had to worry about was what I was going to wear to the dance that weekend and how much petrol money I should give to the driver. It was about the time that I listened to Ashlee Simpson and Panic at the Disco on repeat whilst I got ready for school and Shakira - Hips Don't Lie was played constantly. It's about this time that my love story started.
It was a Friday night and I was in Huddersfield at a dance with my friends. I was wearing dark jeans and a red chunky knit cardigan with a vintage style sparkling broach. I'd been dancing all night and generally been a silly teenage girl, obsessed with having perfectly glossed lips, having my equally perfectly glossed friends around me and whilst taking overly posed pictures of myself from an obscure above angle. I still cling to the fact that it's most flattering to have photos taken from above. But I digress.
The dance had finished and everyone was milling around in the hall, everyone suddenly very aware of themselves now that the lights had been turned on. I don't recall exactly what I was doing right then, but I could hazard a guess that it involved my perfectly glossed friends and a group of boys. In fact I'm pretty sure that it did. That was standard procedure really. Then, a rather tall boy in a green stripy hoody came over, took my hand and said "Sorry, but will you just come over here for a second. You look exactly like my friend and I want to stand you next to her to show just how similar you look." So I went over to his group of friends. He pointed to a blonde haired girl. A girl that I looked absolutely nothing like. I looked at the boy, a little confused and feeling slightly nervous. He flashed a cheeky smile and said "well, actually, you don't look anything like her. You're much prettier. I just used that as an excuse to get you away from your friends so that I could talk to you." Smooth. Real smooth. He than proceeded to ask for my name, which I gave and then asked if I have a number to go with that name. I did. So I gave it to him.
He told me his name that night, but I think for the next few days I just referred to him as the boy in the stripy green hoody. Original, I know. It didn't stick. But he still has the stripy green hoody.
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