Love potion No 9

THE doctor's surgery is hardly the best place for engaging in deep and meaningful conversation with members of the opposite sex (all right, "chatting up" for short). Wrong.
I was back at the docs the other morning, and ended up talking to a lovely lady who sent my blood pressure soaring.
And it was all down to the Chav family.
When I sat down next to this girl with long brown hair, dressed in jeans and a black jumper, I had no other intention than to bury myself in my latest book.
But the Chav family, God bless 'em, had other ideas. Mummy Chav, a rather rotund lady wearing Primark joggers and sporting a rather natty rose tattoo above her right breast (not that she was showing her right breast, Heaven forbid), was having quite a task keeping Little Rascal Chav in line.
He had decided that the doctor's surgery was the best place to show off his full range of squirming, shouting, throwing things, kicking his sisters and generally being a little rascal - a little, heavily overweight rascal.
His sisters, for their part, were doing their best to wind him up. On occasion, Mummy Chav and oldest sister Chav exchanged playful kicks across the small corridor between their seats.
I wanted to share my enjoyment of this playful hi-jinks with someone and when I glanced at the girl next to me our eyes met and we both beamed. I may have, indeed, shwuned, with hindsight. Then someone touched my knee!
Unfortunately this was not the object of my instant desire, but Mummy Chav, who then gave me some very helpful advice. "If they are annoying you, mate, just belt 'em," she said. An interesting take on modern parenting.
When I turned back to the object of my affection, she was called to see the nurse.
But fortunately this story of unrequited love doesn't end there. Later she returned and, with nearly the whole waiting room to choose from, squeezed back into the seat next to mine!
I pretended to be unfazed by this, turning a bright red and feeling the butterflies turn somersaults in my stomach. Definitely a shwun. Perhaps even a shhhhhhwuuuuuun, as The Boss might say.
But how to open the conversation? No need. We locked eyes again and she said... "It's really busy here today, isn't it?" This was true mainly because The Chav family had annexed the waiting room and were now lying, sitting, fighting and generally taking up nearly every available space.
It was just the opening I needed. I talked at great lengths about how I wished I had queued outside the surgery from 7am, how it was a pity that they didn't take appointments but, then again, at least you could get in to see a doctor which was more than some places when you had to make an appointment seven days in advance by which time you were well again.
"Not that I am a regular visitor to the Doctors," I quickly pointed out, fearing she might think I had some incurable disease - probably verbal diarrhoea.
The conversation continued until she was called in by the doctor. At the same time my phone rang. "How are ya wee man?" asked The Boss.
By the time the phone call was finished the desirable one was leaving the doctors and all I could do was smile and wave while attempting to get The Boss off the line as quickly and harmlessly as possible.
Anyway, in the very unlikely circumstance that, like Withers, she spends at least 20 times a day googling her own name, here is what I know...
Her name is Susan Woodward
She has just bought a house in Newport
She has spent the whole of her life in Cardiff
She went to University in Nottingham.
Susan, if you're out there, leave me a comment. Better still, a phone number.

First there was Herbie, the little Volkswagen Beetle with a mind of its own.
Then there was Kit, out of Knight Rider, who actually "talked" to its owner David Hasselhoff.
They may have both been ficticious creations, but it seems that a car does exist now which can act of its own accord.
Shocked rugby writers waiting for a press conference at the Vale of Glamorgan Hotel spluttered over their coffees when they saw a car disappearing past the window - with no driver in sight.
Then an alarmed Hotel worker poked his head round the door and announced in a posh, sniffy voice: "Will the owner of blah, blah, blah, blah, blah please go and fetch his car - it's just rolled down the hill".
Cue an embarrassed Coggsy, who had forgotten to pull on the handbrake.
As he had parked on a hill in the first place, he must have walked off to the hotel, being followed closely by his vehicle.
The most absent-minded driver in the world? Probably.

Pleasant afternoon spent with Withers and The Voice in The Yard, where the new barmaid, from here on known as "Funny Girl", kept us amused. Fell asleep on getting in and woke after missing the Barcelona v Chelsea game. Drat. Cheddar Cheese on rice crackers with a bit of Worcester Sauce was the easiest tea option.