Today started off as a normal Friday.
Woke up, fed the cat, showered, made an Earl Grey, danced around the kitchen to Chris Moyles' Golden Hour, got dressed and called my boyfriend, who lives 122 miles away from me.
It's 11am.
The boy tells me he's "dying" from the flu.
He feels "the worst he's EVER felt" and "it just miraculously arrived this morning". Blah blah blah. He's a man, and therefore, being over dramatic.
I jump on the tube, slightly worried about my intense day ahead, got a PR lunch, interviewing a WAG in the afternoon and have a stack of story payments to sort out. Then after work I have to drive 122 miles up the motorway to nurse my sick man for the weekend.
I call my boyf at 1pm to see if he needs me to buy any paracetamols/ throat sweets. He doesn't pick up. Which is unusual, he loves a good chinwag.
I carry on with my work.
I call again at about 3pm, no answer.
Usually by this time we'd have chatted over BBM, and on the phone, maybe a few times. General stuff about weekend plans, looking forward to seeing each other (we've been apart all week) etc.
I finished work, and call again before I jump on the tube home. No response.
Up until now, I haven't really thought much about our non-communication, I'd missed chatting to him, but on a whole wasn't concerned.
On the tube, the man and woman sat beside me are talking about swine flu.
Him: "Everyone seems to have the flu at the minute, I read in the newspaper today 39 people have died of swine flu"
Her: "That poor girl, who died three days after giving birth. It's awful."
Silence between them both for a while.
Her: "It's scary to think, one minute your sniveling into a tissue, next you're dead."
I feel a mild panic run over me.
I haven't been able to get hold of my boyfriend all day. Since he told me, albeit, in a over the top man fashion, he was "dying".
I call him four more times on the way home. No answer. It's now 6.45pm and I've had seven unanswered calls and he's not rang me back. All of my BBM's are sat in his inbox, unopened.
Should I still drive to see him? Maybe he doesn't want to see me? Weird.
By now he'd have 100% called to discuss plans, we haven't spoken about the weekend in previous phone calls all week. Usually, I drive straight to the pub to meet him.
My mind's racing, with possible scenarios. All seeming completely rational.
Has he's collapsed in his flat with swine flu?
Maybe he banged his head on the way down? Did he manage to call an ambulance? I wonder which hospital he's in?
Oh god, he's actually collapsed, and died. On the spot. Of swine flu.
I'm going to open the door and find him dead, on the floor. Naked.
I try and start to pull myself together.
He's been arrested.
He can't answer his phone because the police have it in a plastic bag. He doesn't even know i;m trying to get hold of him because his phone's in a police box.
Why's he been arrested? Will he be in a cell all night? What will our parents say?
Shit, maybe he's been attacked, in his flat. He could have a secret stalker, like that poor Joanne girl.
I'm going to get to his flat, and see the door smashed in and blood everywhere, oh god.
It continues...
He's furious with me, he's just found out I cheated on him, and now he hates me and will never speak to me again.
I've never cheated on him, so this can not be true. There's nothing to uncover.
Phew.
I actually said "phew" out loud. What a nob, that particular scenario could never be true. Oh God, I'm started to get brain hysteria.
I get home, call a few more times. No answer. I've now called ten times. Ten times.
I sit down, with my cat. She's no use, she just wants feeding. As usual.
I almost cry. I feel sad and confused. What should I do? No-one has a key to his flat but me. Most his mate are away travelling at the moment or live miles away.
I start to pack my bag, thinking 'I have to go, even just to find his dead, naked body, covered in blood, slumped on the floor of his flat.' I can't leave him there, alone. Also, I can't sit here worrying.
Then suddenly my mobile starts ringing. It's 7.30pm.
A chirpy voice rings through: "Hi babe, how's it going?"
"What's going on?" I manage to stutter, "Are you OK, I've been so worried, I've been trying to get hold of you all day."
"Yeah, I'm cool, babe" he replies.
I'm speechless. Angry blood is rushing, gushing, spewing to my head. I put the phone down.
To cut a long story, short.
He fell asleep on the sofa, after playing FIFA on the X Box, all day.
He left his phone under his pillow in the bedroom, so couldn't hear it ringing.
But, it's all OK as he's now on Level 23 on the X Box and thinks, with enough practice, he could play FIFA... professionally.... for money.
Fucking men.
Also, could I "stop off at Tescos on the way" as he's "so ill, and fancies a spag bol for tea".
I'm still speechless and starting to feel like a Class A nobber.
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