Magazine Articles - Worst Day Of My Life

The Worst Day Of My Life (1)

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Be assured that this is by no means the worst day of my life but it's probably the worst swinging day. The seeds were sown some two months before while my wife, Kate, and I were holidaying in a lovely coastal village in Spain. In fact, it was so lovely that we decided to extend our stay for three days. Had we not done so, we would not have met Alan and Julia. But we did. It's all about causality; 'If a butterfly flaps its' wings in New York, the weather changes in Beijing' - and so on. Anyway, we did meet Alan and Julia that evening, in a bar.We got on well with them, so we went on to a restaurant together. Kate and I are soft swingers.We're both in our late thirties and indulge in play maybe only ten times a year - usually with couples that we've known for a long time.

However, it became clear over dinner that Alan and Julia were of a like mind. Nothing happened that night, but we invited them over to our villa for dinner the next evening and after enough local hooch for relaxation, it all kicked off.We then had a wonderful two days. Kate and Julia, both being bi, spent a lot of time together, and Alan and I, in between playing tennis, had great fun with both ladies.

Back in London...

Holiday sadly over, Alan and Julia came to stay with us in north London for a night a couple of weeks later and we arranged to go to them in a month or so. By this time, we had become really good friends. Not only was the sex great, but so was their company and we had much in common.

They lived in Streatham, so, we drove on a rare excursion south of the river - it would be worth it.We got to their house around lunchtime and after a terrific hour-long 'making up for lost time' session, we retired to the garden and drank Pimms as Alan got the barbecue going.

It was then that Alan revealed that, they hoped we didn't mind, but they'd invited one of their 'regular' couples around that evening for a six-some, as their friends were feeling a bit low at the moment and needed cheering up.We said there was no problem and were really looking forward to it.

All down hill from here

At seven, Mark and Kathy arrived. Again, similar people to us I thought, as I stood and shook hands. I was surprised when Kate, not one to use foul language, other than in certain circumstances, let out a scream of 'Oh fucking shit. Hell no!'

It transpired that Mark was, in Kate's words, 'the useless tosser' that she had fired from her company the week before, and who was taking her to a tribunal for wrongful dismissal. Mark, by now, had started shouting threats and obscenities and Kathy was crying and throwing tomatoes at Kate.

Needless to say, we left. Had to leave the car, of course, as we had been expecting to stay overnight and had drunk a gallon or two of Pimms each.

Bad to worse

Next morning, I returned to Streatham to pick up the car. I called in to see Alan and Julia just to see if they were OK. It seems that things had only got worse after we left, and they ended the evening alone.

Alan and Julia were philosophical about events and I left saying 'We'll call you'.

I got to my car, which I'd had to leave two roads away. It had been broken into and over twenty CDs, along with the player, had been nicked. Also, in the initial excitement of arriving the day before, I had not noticed the Controlled Parking Zone signs and the car was clamped. Two hours, and eighty quid later, I was driving north vowing never to cross the river again.

The fourth emergency service

Haverstock Hill in Hampstead is not the best place to have to change a tyre. But that is what I then had to attempt having heard a big bang and the steering going wobbly. Caused, almost certainly by wheel-clamp damage, I'd had a blow-out. The spare was also flat! A wonderful AA man arrived within the hour, pumped up the spare, changed the wheel and was well worth the twenty quid tip as it was Sunday evening by now. Parking up outside of our house, my foot slipped from the brake and I lurched into the car behind. There was very little damage to the other vehicle. Just a broken headlight and scraped bumper. I would have ignored it and re-parked somewhere further down the road - had it not been Kate's car that I'd hit.

At least I'd got home. It was only after my Yale key had broken in the lock and an emergency locksmith had come and sorted it for a mere £220 plus VAT ('It is Sunday evening, you, know, mate.') that I could relax with a humungous G&T and break into hysterical laughter.

Sadly, or, maybe, luckily, that was the end of Alan and Julia.We spoke on the phone a couple of times but Mark was Alan's best friend from university and they went back nearly twenty years.

As a postscript, this happened more than two years ago. Mark lost his tribunal case and Kate and I have moved on to even better associations. However, Alan and Julia were special and it's a shame we won't see them again. But, we certainly enjoyed some great times with them. If there is a moral to be drawn from this account, then it is; 'There are a lot of butterflies hovering over Manhattan'.