Friday Night Fever

I headed out into the glittering lights of town last night. All I can say is that I have officially turned into a gin harpy, just minus the gin; we were on Sex on the Beach and Blue Lagoon cocktails - how 80's of us. Anneka and I sat in the corner of the bar and bitched about everyone who walked past. Can I just say, frayed denim mini skirt + stillettos = fucking cheap on even the most beautiful woman. What's the matter with people? Just because the temperature rises above 10 degrees for a day does not mean you can go out dressed like it's Ibiza in August.

After we slung back our two pitchers we went on to the local nightclub. Nightclub is not quite the right noun for it, shithole is more accurate. It's full of shits too. The first bloke I got chatted up by was, as he shall always be known, Ribena Boy. We met before in 2004 when he tried to sleep with my pal Sarah but ended up passed out on our couch, only after I'd made him a hot Ribena - fucking child. He's one of those men who knows their good looking ( he kinda looks like Adam Levine) and is just an arrogant twat about it, not cheeky or cocky, just a complete dick. On the night back in 2004 we went to the chip shop before we ended up back at our house and he thought it was hella funny to keep putting his greasy fries on my shoulder and then pointing, saying, "You've got a chip on your shoulder!". Well he hadn't improved any by last night and when I began to recollect our relationship (which also involved a Halloween incident where he was dressed as a baby) he denied having ever met me and claimed it must have been his twin brother. Cock.

The next man was a bald policeman who asked me dance. I tried to pretend that my feet were too sore but Anneka nudged me up. Thanks for that. We had a very arkward dance where he kept trying to ask me questions but hello? we're on a dancefloor, not the place! I promptly left when the song was over and said I'd join him for a drink later but er...I forgot, whoops!

Man Number 3 was a cute Southern American looking gentleman but turned out he was from South London (pronounced Sarf Landan), not so exotic. We spent about an hour chatting before he said, "Look you're beautiful and great to talk too but I've gotta be honest, I've got a girlfriend. She does English too!". Oh, that's great! Maybe we can all get together and read some Chaucer? COCK!

I stopped even making eye contact with people after that but Anneka and I still managed to attract attention in the form of a seventeen year old girl who seemed a little too excited to be out. She told us we were the coolest people she'd met and could she have my phone number? Did I just get hit on my a sixth former? I have to admit it, she was quite foxy, I probably would have. We managed to escape the club and bagged a taxi straight away but had to have a very confusing conversation with the taxi driver about club and pub closing times all the way home. All in all quite a depressing night. I can't wait until I start properly on the gin because that's supposed to make you angry depressed. Woohoo!