Andrew Sudell Davis
Copyright 2012 Andrew Sudell Davis
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As love-hate relationships go, it wasn’t too bad.
I wobbled between liking and loathing the place, and Scratby gave me, well, if not unconditional love, then a sort of unconditional acceptance in return. If Scratby was your friend, it wouldn’t be your actual best friend, the sort that you would share all your secrets and experiences with. It would more be like the sort of friend who is always there when you need them. Not the one you go to parties or on holiday with, not the sort of friend that you’d get drunk on cheap red wine with when you’ve split up with your boyfriend, but the friend you go to see on a wet boring Tuesday evening cos there’s nothing on the telly and you don’t fancy going out to the pub on your own.
That was Scratby to me – solid, dull, reliable, and always there when I needed it. It drove me to whatever the next category down from ‘rages of tears’ is when I was younger, but now I had a sort of quiet understanding of the place. A bit like the grudging respect and admiration you might get between two completely-different-but-similar characters in a crap American comedy thriller.