When the Least Favourite Doesn't Care

Enchanting Beginnings

Let's take this back a way so you can get to know me a bit, you know, so you can sympathise with my plight better. My name is Lars. I know, cool right. Oh, I have to be honest with you? I guess that makes sense, lying at this stage will only cause doubt and distrust later on and there will be plenty enough of that without us being negative towards each other. Alright, I'll start over. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me all the deities that be.

My chosen name is Lars, the nickname of my youth was Larry, my given name is Lawrence and my parents insist on using this even now - thirty years after me ditching it. Yeah, you can laugh about it if you want, everybody else does. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure it's a great name for some people but for me it is just one more illustration of how I have failed to achieve the expectations laid upon me.

So, to recap, I go by the name of Lars and I am thirty-five years old. I am currently in good physical shape. I workout almost daily – reach and stretch and eat and. Na, I'm just kidding. I workout every day, mostly running and weights but I enjoy a good bike ride if the mood takes me and I like to kayak when the weather is nice. My muscles are defined but not like super bulging; when I wear a shirt my six pack is hinted at and not stood to attention. My eyes are hazel, I love that word so much, my hair is brown-blonde, slightly on the long side - it just skims my shoulders - and can be worn in a little ponytail however I mostly leave it down and messy because I just don't have the time for hair styling which I see as a good thing because, you know, my lack of hair products is helping to save the planet, less plastic in the sea and so on. Speaking of which, I volunteer. I know some would say this isn't a cool thing to admit but I have never really been one for cool and anyway, I think walking along the beach with the most attractive girl ever to grace the earth and collecting other people's junk is a brilliant way to spend a Saturday morning. Ahem, moving swiftly on.

I work. That is all that needs to be said on the employment front. You will learn soon enough how big a bane of contention my professional life is. For what it is worth, I like my job. Somehow this never seems to matter.

I received a good education. Again, we will just leave that there and come back to it later.

Animals are the third best thing ever, after pizza and the luscious Lucy... just go about your business while I daydream.

Lucy, oh, one day we will be so good together.

As I was saying, animals are great. I keep a few. I have a tortoise called Shelby because why not? and I have two hamsters called Pip and Squeak. Before you say anything, I am aware that my choice in pet names probably says a lot about me, particularly that I have an amazing sense of humour. The last pet I currently own is Domino, yeah there are no prizes for guessing what she is. Domino is a beautiful Dalmatian descendant from my first ever pet, Danger.

Danger was given to me as a Christmas present for my sixth birthday. She was so small, the runt of the litter, but I don't think anybody – or anydoggy for that matter – had explained this to her. She was always sniffing around, getting into tight spots, making a mess and just causing all sorts of trouble. That was why I named her Danger. I had lots of friends growing up but Danger was my best friend. She understood me in a way that no human did. When it was just me and her running through fields and splashing in rivers I felt completely free, then I'd have to go home and be shackled by the real world once more.

And so we get to it, the square root of the problem.

Home should be a comforting, secure word shouldn't it? Growing up the word "home" sent a cold chill down by back and started my teeth a-chattering. The weight that rested on my shoulders at the mention of the word "home" was equal, in my mind at least, to the crushing pressure a diver experiences when he (or she) finds themselves too deep in the depths and no matter which way they look there is nothing but dark, empty water. In fact, five year old me found the idea of going to jail after being caught stealing a 10pence packet of crisps less scary than "home", that should say it all really.