The 10 years of my life between 25 and 35 years old were bloody brilliant.

1993 to 2003.

I was earning money.

Listening to Oasis.

Not taking anything too seriously.

Exploring relationships.

Drinking

Taking drugs.

(I took drugs for about a month. 

I had to stop quite quickly though. 

I kept sneezing.

And it was working out about £4 a sneeze).

Four Poo Sue. 

One of my friends, Ady, was going out with Sue.

Sue, one day, told us that she had four poos a day.

Bad idea!

Not the poos.

Telling us that she had four poos a day.

From that day forth, she was ‘Four Poo Sue’.

Then, somehow, this got shortened further.

After only a few weeks.

Nights Out.

We went out as a gang occasionally.

Mike.

Karen.

Mark.

Kier.

Ady.

And Four Poo.

Sue really did end up answering to this.

Four Poo.

Ady!

Ady!

What do you want?

Stella?

Yes?

OK.

Four Poo!

Vodka Redbull?

Great.

‘Didn’t bat an eyelid.

Elwood.

Then there’s Elwood.

I’ve known Elwood for 30 years.

Since he and I were about 20.

He’s always been Elwood to me.

He went to a fancy dress thing in this teens apparently.

As one of the Blues Brothers.

And the name just stuck.

I was out with him last week and, occasionally – throughout the night – I’d think to myself:

What’s your name?

30 Years.

30 years I’ve known John.

But he’s still Elwood really.

Anyhow.

Isn’t it cool how some names just stick around?

Like lovely memories for us to carry around.

For ever.

Staring.

Not much mattered back then.

Not even my friend’s actual names.

So if you see me staring off into the distance.

Smiling.

Full of love.

Emotional.

Tearful, even.

And mouthing:

I love you Four Poo.

Now you know why.

PS. Four Poo Sue appears in the photograph that goes with this story at 50odd.co.uk.

‘Not telling which one she is though: https://www.50odd.co.uk/four-poo-sue/

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