It’s great. I like it. But how in hell do you get rid of the taste of it the next day? Short of shaving my tongue, I’ve done pretty much everything I can think of. All to no avail!
Last night the other half and I went to see Equus with our lovely friend Chris and a couple of good-time girls who Chris works with. The play was brilliant and Daniel Radcliffe, as well as being awesomely buff and disturbingly sexy for a 17 year old, was excellent. I’ll never be able to think of him as Harry Potter again, not least because I’ve seen him running about the stage totally stark naked. He really was great in the part and deserves much credit.
Afterwards we went to a gay bar in Soho for ‘one’. I held firm that, as it was a school night, I needed to be home in plenty of time to fit in adequate beauty sleep. There were murmurs of general agreement but I should have realised that the low-level response heralded the onset of a much meatier night out.
We moved on to another bar where pink champagne began to flow – one of the ladies was responsible. Us boys, being of a pinkish persuasion anyway, set to with gusto. Chris lives in Edinburgh, so he wanted to maximise gawping at cute London boys, another sign that I wasn’t going to be able to tear people away from what was beginning to slide into ‘a bit of a big night’. I was brave and declared that it was time for me to head home and I would take my leave. Everyone agreed that we should leave too. “Hurrah” I thought. “Bugger” I thought immediately after, as I was grabbed by both arms and hauled into the club we were passing. My bag was whizzed into the cloakroom and I was shepherded to the bar, protesting weakly – I’d had vodka, champagne, no food and I’d come straight from work. I gave in. I drank more pink champagne. I figured that it was already late, I’d feel tired today anyway so I might as well make the most of it, drink more and watch the cute and the lovely gays of London bustle about the club.
Whilst eating 3 minute noodles in our kitchen at 3am with the boys I remember thinking “What the f… am I doing?!” The thought didn’t last as I was immediately distracted by shovelling another heap of noodles into my mouth.
Some questions…
Why noodles?
It was all we had in – no bread, no cheese, no fishfingers (always great on a sandwich when you’re smashed!)
Why am I finding a 17 year old sexy when my mind tells me it’s just not right?
I can’t help it – he’s uber cute.
Why can’t I get rid of the taste of pink champagne?
Please! Someone come to my aid on this one.
And to top it all off, of course, on waking this morning I felt as rough as a bear’s arse and looked like a total bag of spanners for the whole day.
Harrumph!!
Last night the other half and I went to see Equus with our lovely friend Chris and a couple of good-time girls who Chris works with. The play was brilliant and Daniel Radcliffe, as well as being awesomely buff and disturbingly sexy for a 17 year old, was excellent. I’ll never be able to think of him as Harry Potter again, not least because I’ve seen him running about the stage totally stark naked. He really was great in the part and deserves much credit.
Afterwards we went to a gay bar in Soho for ‘one’. I held firm that, as it was a school night, I needed to be home in plenty of time to fit in adequate beauty sleep. There were murmurs of general agreement but I should have realised that the low-level response heralded the onset of a much meatier night out.
We moved on to another bar where pink champagne began to flow – one of the ladies was responsible. Us boys, being of a pinkish persuasion anyway, set to with gusto. Chris lives in Edinburgh, so he wanted to maximise gawping at cute London boys, another sign that I wasn’t going to be able to tear people away from what was beginning to slide into ‘a bit of a big night’. I was brave and declared that it was time for me to head home and I would take my leave. Everyone agreed that we should leave too. “Hurrah” I thought. “Bugger” I thought immediately after, as I was grabbed by both arms and hauled into the club we were passing. My bag was whizzed into the cloakroom and I was shepherded to the bar, protesting weakly – I’d had vodka, champagne, no food and I’d come straight from work. I gave in. I drank more pink champagne. I figured that it was already late, I’d feel tired today anyway so I might as well make the most of it, drink more and watch the cute and the lovely gays of London bustle about the club.
Whilst eating 3 minute noodles in our kitchen at 3am with the boys I remember thinking “What the f… am I doing?!” The thought didn’t last as I was immediately distracted by shovelling another heap of noodles into my mouth.
Some questions…
Why noodles?
It was all we had in – no bread, no cheese, no fishfingers (always great on a sandwich when you’re smashed!)
Why am I finding a 17 year old sexy when my mind tells me it’s just not right?
I can’t help it – he’s uber cute.
Why can’t I get rid of the taste of pink champagne?
Please! Someone come to my aid on this one.
And to top it all off, of course, on waking this morning I felt as rough as a bear’s arse and looked like a total bag of spanners for the whole day.
Harrumph!!
6 comments:
"I felt as rough as a bear’s arse and looked like a total bag of spanners for the whole day" - This conjures up an interesting image, but somehow I can't imagine you looking anything but spunky.
If, by some chance, you are in Rome on the 28th let's meet up for a few drinks... Although, I'll leave the pink champagne for you and I'll stick to beer.
ha ha ha! Muz is trying for some international dating! What a bloody ripper! I'm a fan!
But I must agree with Muz, I can't imagine you looking anything but a total HUNK!
Anyway, noodles...I do exactly the same thing...when you're pissed, you need something that's very easy to make (boil water, pour into noodles) because your addled mind can't cope with complex tasks. It's also quick because when you're inebriated, you need food NOW! and they're usually nice and salty which your body seems to crave when drunk. That's my take on it anyway. Sounds like a great night...will have to do one like it when I visit in October!!!
Were you not supposed to be stalking me... June Sicily and Rome.
BTW DG, I've done a proper full face pic on my blog...now, quid pro quo Mr...we want a PST shot...preferably with your hairy chest at least a little exposed...he he he! ;-)
Believe me - I looked like a dropped pie the day after.
I shall blog about further exploits soon.
cutectguy - can't leave a comment on your blog as 'only team members' are able to. Talk about exclusive club...
Sorry Darth.. should be back to normal service now.
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