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Saturday, 6 June 2015

Romance, friendship, comedy, British... what more could you want?



 A Proper Charlie
a true British comedy!

‘You weren’t in love with Andy, babe. You were in love with love.’
‘Don’t get all psycho-thingy on me,’ she said. ‘He was my soul mate. I loved him.’ Glass in hand, she pointed at Melvin, tipping sticky Malibu over his arm. ‘You know what a soul mate is?’
‘Enlighten me.’
She downed her drink, and reached for the bottle again. ‘It’s when you can tell what the other is thinking without talking. It’s when sex is out of this world!’ She frowned. ‘It wasn’t quite like that with Andy, but we were heading in the right direction.’
‘Sure you were.’
‘I’m such a bitch,’ she said, wailing. ‘Why’d I treat him so badly?’
‘I guess you’re a nasty person.’
She nodded in agreement. ‘I’m a cow.’
Melvin went to sip his Malibu, hesitated, then put the glass down on the coffee table.
‘You’re evil, Charlie. I mean,’ he held up a hand and began counting off his fingers, ‘you give him free board and lodgings as and when he wants it. You complain when he messes up your home, you’re suspicious of his motives because he talks of deals and stuff, but then has nothing to show for it. And, lastly, you accuse him of seeing another woman, who, Andy Pandy insists, is the wife of his very single pal Dave. As I said, utterly evil. I’m surprised he’s put up with you for this long.’
Charlie popped another piece of chocolate into her mouth. ‘Do you think I should’ve been nicer to him?’
Melvin nodded. ‘I do. At least offered him one of your kidneys, or something.’
She mulled it over as she poured herself another glass of Malibu. She tossed it down her throat. ‘I’ve been such a bitch.’
‘Yeah,’ Melvin agreed. He stood up. ‘I’m going to make myself a cup of tea.’ He screwed the lid back on the Malibu. ‘And one for you, too. I don’t think drinking this neat is a good idea.’
‘It’s a very good idea,’ Charlie said, making a swipe for the bottle.
 She's losing her job.
She's losing her boyfriend.
She can only afford to eat spaghetti hoops on toast.
She's called Charlie... or Charlotte, or ginger, ginge, Duracell,
carrot.
Yet with all these odds against her, she pushes forward to
take the lead story on her paper at London Core.
Shame no one knows. Shame she's the office general assistant and not a real journalist.
Shame it's on missing prostitutes and Charlie thinks pretending to be a 'tart
with a heart' will get her that story.
She doesn't just get a story.
She becomes the starring role.

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