“Oh, will you shut the fuck up, you stupid whore? I only ever wanted you for sex and cooking! And… now? You can’t even do that!” I shrieked, coming closer to a nervous breakdown with every new word.

I was hungry. It’d been a hard day at the gym – I was determined to ensure that I was in top shape for my match with Pericolo. All I wanted was to return from a gruelling 6 hour session to find my dinner on the table. But NO! The poor bitch had spilled a full packet of rice on the kitchen floor and any chance of the curry meal I was expecting had vanished entirely.

You’d be angry if it happened to you too.

Naturally, Georgina was stunned by my choice of words, but that’s exactly the effect I was looking for. You don’t get anywhere in this life by pussyfooting about – suicide proves my point too. I mean, the chair shot that I KO’ed Pericolo with drew some serious ratings.

“I can’t believe you! You’ve never spoken to me like that before!” she cried, with the tears streaming down her eyes. I wasn’t in the mood for the water works though – my match with Pericolo meant EVERYTHING to me.

Oh yes. I was fucking hungry too.

“Fuck you, Georgina. I’ve just about had it with you. Get out of my house. I can find another two bit blonde whore with the snap of my fingers,” I ranted, staring down at the cocked up curry beneath my feet. “And maybe next time, I’ll find one that can cook.”

With that, I received a solid slap to the left cheek. She bolted. The front door slammed shut. Chris Champion was officially single again.

“And you were shit in bed too!” I shrieked, opening my window and flipping her the finger for the final time.

Ok. Maybe I was lying there. She wasn’t shit in bed at all. She was fantastic – but when you’re an emotional wrestling icon, you tend to exaggerate a lot of the time. Hell, sometimes I find myself telling stories about creepy crawlies down at the pub… But, that’s got nothing to do with this particular chapter of my life, so we’ll save that conversation for a rainy day.

I sat down on one of my kitchen stools and ran my hand through my hair. Georgina’s picture sat opposite me at the breakfast bar, almost haunting my every thought. As much as I wanted to move the damn thing, I couldn’t. Something prevented me from removing her from my life. My head. I was still fighting some kind of mental battle. My conscience continued to make me see some kind of reasoning.

It was certainly one of those scenarios whereby a little angel and devil appear on your shoulder like in those stupid cartoons. I’m not a fictional character though - and that’s why I knew that the entire situation was completely fucked up.

“Damn it. It was only a curry,” said a part of me, trying to reason with the bastard within. “You were just worked up about this match against Dominic. Just calm down and call her later.”

“Fuck you. Fuck the world. Fuck the system. Fuck the Sex Pistols,” said my darker side.

And that’s when the drama really took off…