Monday, 4 July 2016


For audio click here 
 At first Cardiff looked like it was hosting a giant hen do; happy drunken laughter and the clip clop of impossibly high heels echoed around the bars and streets. The were divas, grown women, broken hearted girls, and those who wished they were a boy. Every now and again the strains of ‘Crazy in Love’ could be heard, just slightly out of tune and with a distinctly Valley’s lilt. The rain mizzled in their air, making all the posh frocks stick to the skin and the hair dos become hair don’ts. From the look of things, it seemed like the deck chair pattern was the ‘in’ fashion either that or everyone had made tier own dress and there were empty wooden frames scattered across the prom in Barry Island.  If ever there was a world record for the most flesh on show while being clothed, Cardiff would be challenging it tonight. Mitch couldn’t remember seeing such a dominance of one sex.  Even rugby international were not so one sided. Cardiff had become a woman’s world for the countdown to a Beyonce concert.     
Suddenly the mood changed. It was time to go. Business faces on, dregs of drinks drank, the march began. Like a line of worker ants, the battalion set off. An army of women marching on their six inch heels. Wave after wave of women, not a man in sight. Except for Mitch. Mitch was braving the rain and the oestrogen in order to get home in time for the football. While the women were being entertained by Beyonce’s Formation, the men were glued to a 4-3-3 formation.
Although an all female army might look impressive, a combination of heels just a bit too high, skirts maybe just a bit too short and rain just a bit too heavy meant the troop moved slowly over the treacherous ground. Mitch decided he needed to do an overtaking manoeuvre. He curved out of the line to the left, quickening his pace. 
Mitch felt his left foot slide just a little too far forwards, if he got the right one down quickly, he could surely save himself. But he got it down too fast, it also slipped on the wet Tarmac. Now there was nothing that could save him, his hip hit the ground first, followed by his elbow and then his right hand. The pain jarred though his shoulders. 
A collective female gasp was followed by female laughter. He’d become the entertainment for the hen do crowd. 
“Don't hurt yourself,” one of them yelled to more laughter. 
The pain was bearable; it was the embarrassment that haunted him the most. Maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself, that one of the Beyoncé army with a halo would help him up and dust him down and their eyes would meet, and it would be the start of something beautiful. In the future they’d laugh about how they met and people would say it was like a movie. 
“Are you okay?”
Mitch looked up, hoping to see one of the single ladies, but his dreams came crashing down when he saw a six foot five safety steward was proffering a hand to help Mitch up. 

“I’m fine,” Mitch said. 

By the way, how many Beyonce songs (or near enough) did you spot in the story? Answers after the ad break.

Crazy in Love 
Single Ladies
If I were a boy 
Grown woman
Broken hearted girl
Don't hurt yourself
6 inch 

No comments:

Post a Comment