Chapter 1
It’s Thursday, 7am. There’s a cigarette hanging out my mouth and lying in a small pool of saliva and vomit on my shoulder. I wipe it off. Wife comes in, tells me she spent 6,000 quid on a tracksuit. I don’t care , I’m hungover. Get in car, light up cigarette, stop for McMuffin. Another cigarette, another mucmuffin, back in car, stick on Clubtunes 2002 mixtape, drive to Wembley, Win FA Cup. Class.
I am Wayne Rooney. This is my story.
“Hello my love you are looking well fit today,” I say to my soon to be wife Colleen.
I don’t do well with love words but somehow for this special moment my brain turned me pure smart. The priest gives me a strange look but the audience loves it. It is time to be married. But now I will have to learn how to behave.... Just kidding lol she never wiped the contacts from my phone!
I’m back in Liverpool. I am a baby and I’m crying and crying. My dad gives me a can of beer to shut me up. “Harry!” shouts my mum, Debs. “Whaaaat it’s only 5%” My mum shakes her head but cannot hide her smile. I love my family. But it was not meant to be.
“Brown sauce!” shouts my Dad.
“Red sauce!” shouts my Mum.
They’re arguing again. My parents are proper smart and have like debaits. Its like going to Oxford except like we talk about the real issues.
“Why isn’t my custard hot? Are you trying to sabotage me? Are you trying to sabotage my career?” I say. I’m not arguing with a dinner lady , I’m arguing with my wife Colleen (coincidentally, always wanted to be a dinner lady when she grew up but didnt pass the extensive aptitude tests.) She’s cooked me crumble and custard but didn’t microwave the custard enough.
“I don’t know why you don’t like my cooking, babe” she says, annoyed. I love her cooking and this frozen crumble and tinned custard is one of the nicest things she’s made me in years. Usually it’s just a frozen food or just a tinned food. But combined... class.
“You always forget to blow on the spoon and burn yourself” she adds. Today’s tracksuit has “wife” written over the bum. I love my wife, she’s well loyal. But she’s starting to grate my cheese now.
I can never win arguments with Colleen she’s the most cleverest person I know. She got 2 GCSEs at school (Drama and PE). That’s more than everyone in my year group combined. I know that I cannot best her on the football pitch of inter-lect debait. Boss’ deep Scottish tones are screaming in my head. Fergie time, let’s switch tactic.
“Did I mention how you’re looking well fit” I say
“Don’t try and change the subject” she says but she’s hiding a smile.
I start to think, hard. My next words need to be precise and perfect.
“I love you more than chips” I say
Colleen stops, shocked. Then smiles and starts to cry. “that’s the sweetest thing” she says, directly quoting Big Brother S7E3. God, i love this woman. Class.
“I love you more than plastic surgery” she says.
Shit. How do I top that. I start to sweat. The pressure is building. I’m about to take the penalty. The crowd is silent. I run up to the ball and smash it, right in the top corner. Class.
“I love you more than the pub” i say. Then instant regret. She smiles. Shit shit shit. I’ve given her the ammunition she needs. I’ve said the worst possible thing I could say.
“So do you want to stay in and watch a movie together?” She says. “you need to rest up for the FA cup final tomorrow.”
“Pub” I say.
“No” she says.
“PUB!” I say, louder
“I thought you loved me more than the pub” she says. I can see tears appearing. “Why is well fit girls like well crazy what’s going on man.” i think to myself, thoughtfully. “She’s got me here, why did I have to marry such a smart woman.”
10:48pm. 4 episodes of Big Brother and only 4 beers later and Colleen has fallen asleep. I slip off the sofa, take a bottle of beer from the fridge and ,without waking her, walk off to the pub. Effing class.
