That night after work a few of us had decided to go and plough our heads full to the brim with booze. Always a good idea, Matt had decided to come with us. He was fairly quiet at first, but it wasn’t long till the drink took over and this secret berserko came bursting out the closet. Ending up in a skanky club on a Manchester back street we were all more than rowdy and Matt held out his hands to me to spin me round on the dance floor. Who doesn’t love a good twirl, I bloody do. So I reached out to lock fingers when…

WHAT THE FUCK? Where are his fingers? The look of sheer confusion must have been evident on my face as I grabbed the stump unable to stop myself mid twirl flow. His other hands locks with mine. I could feel fingers. PHEW. Not a full set of fingers, but enough to at least clasp on to. How had I never noticed this? My mind went into flash back mode thinking of a time that I would have had to look at his hands and it dawned on me he had always either spun away or had his hands in water or in rubber gloves, the illusion of fingers I see. Very cunning Matthew. So there I was, now holding ‘hands’ with a stump and half a hand that resembles a ham hock. ACE. How is one supposed to respond without causing offence? The pang of guilt darted through my heartbox as I thought back to earlier that afternoon, my (in my opinion) highly amusing reconstruction of his cheese splitting techniques. I’m a vile person.

Luckily that night, Matthew turned into a right letch and in his own special way ‘groped’ a pretty much every female member of staff leading to a massive kick off about him being a berserko pervert. The shame was obviously too much as he never came back into work after that night. All in all I guess it was a positive as the cheese wastage % really decreased going forwards.

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