The human brain is an amazing instrument. More than once my brain has dug me out of trouble with a lightning quick, subconsciously driven reaction that I can only process through regular cognitive channels after the event. I then reflect on my inbuilt saviour and am mightily impressed.

During a phone call with my brother where we whiled away  30 min or so talking shit and other general sibling smack talk – about mistresses for some reason –  I had a flash of a story to write about. Generally I am fond of a bit of embellishment for the sake of the crowd, and my ego. Today the lily requires very little gilding.

When 18 I dropped out of a very lackadaisical attempt at the first year of Uni (one of these now converted to University status Community Colleges, much the same as an old Polytechnic in the UK. You know the type; used to be an abandoned petrol station and now it’s a University as everyone deserves a degree in Meeja Studies) to go and work at Lake Louise. Skiing, girls, booze and an 18y old male that is vaguely sporty and very horny in a province where it is legal to drink. What could possibly go wrong?

One of my most memorable events was when I found that I was liaising – consecutively I might add but sadly not concurrently – with two girls who happened to be roommates. One was called Michelle, who was the primary object of my attentions and the other called Susan , a more peripheral but willing young lady if I recall correctly.

Nonetheless, I discarded the hazy rose-tinted specs relating to my astonishing studliness – read insatiable 18y old horniness – and recalled the following great brain save.

I have a fairly well off Uncle in Calgary so, with the offer of the guest bed in a palatial house, I invited the young Michelle to spend a night there with me and get away from the terribly insular community that is the workers at the resort. She readily agreed and we did whatever and repaired, eventually, in a fully relaxed state to our bed. Being horny 18y old’s – yes, I don’t want to belabour the point too much, but sex and skiing were pretty much all we thought about – we undertook what came naturally. Lying there exhausted, post vigorous Ugandan discussion’s, and still a bit pissed, I was drifting in and out of sleep with Michelle snuggled beside me. In my blissfully contented haze I apparently uttered the word “Susan”.

Well bugger me, I had no idea a woman can go from a post-coital glow to rabid frothing monster quite so fast. Apparently they can. Michelle was sat upright jabbing her finger at me – I think she may have suspected as I went to great lengths not to see them in the same space as I was sure one, other or both would twig – and accused me of sleeping with Susan behind her back. Which was true.

Cue my self-preservation brain seeing the need to save it’s owner from what had all the hallmarks of a kicking. From a girl. Quick as a flash and with no concious effort I adopted a puzzled yet pained face and remarked in as innocent a sounding voice as possible, “Susan, Susan, her? Are you mad? I said I was snoozin, just snoozin’ ” It worked as she immediately softened and apologised for being jealous.

Much as the opportunity was there for some good ‘ole reverse guilting, I didn’t.

I am far too much of a gentleman to do something like that.