Kissing Girls in Clubs – Part 1
Recently we celebrated Toast’s and RB’s birthdays with a night out in North London. We started at RB’s place for Red Stripe beer and chilli jacket potatoes (essential pre-drinking stodge).
RB has a bunch of rather lovely friends and I set about making balloon models for them to play with, because we are all grown-ups like that. We left the house all wearing one of many fezzes that had been bought for the occasion and the shenanigans continued on the bus where we met a gentleman straight from the pages of ‘The Chap’. He was wearing a rather dapper wide-brimmed trilby, which one of RB’s friends managed to persuade him to let her try on.
With her long black hair, fringe cut straight above the eyes and long coat she looked like a sexy ‘40s private eye. I must say that was a much better look than the Fez.
Toast and RB had booked tables in a painfully hip bar, the kind of place that seemed to have an unspoken ‘no ugly people’ rule. Fleetstreetfox and Scalene also arrived and everyone set about pouring as much booze into the birthday boy and girl’s faces as possible.
Having been so impressed with RB’s ‘film noir’ friend, I made an effort to chat to her through the evening. Toast and RB had already pegged that there might be a little chemistry there and were watching with anticipation.
After lots of chats we were on our way to the bar when the DJ played Prince’s ‘Kiss’, which we both gleefully began singing along to:
You don’t have to be rich to be my girl
You don’t have to be cool to rule my world
Ain’t no particular sign I’m more compatible with
I just want your extra time and your …
…at that moment I cheekily bobbed my head down and kissed her. Well, what could I do? Prince TOLD me to.
Noir looked surprised and then pleased.
The rest of the night was a mix of chatting, dancing and kissing, in about a 30%, 30%, 40% ratio. I’m very aware of kissing ‘in peoples’ faces’ (other peoples’ faces, not the person you’re kissing obviously) so I tried to keep it to the edges of the bar and at least semi discrete.
The two moments which I remember the clearest are when she grabbed my bum, making me feel like a teenager, and when she said “I’ve never snogged a posh boy before”. The latter of these two made me giggle as I was born in East London and don’t consider myself posh. Though, if you were an American speaking to me on the telephone you might envisage me in a bowler hat, sipping tea from fine bone china whilst eating a cucumber sandwich and bemoaning the weather and England’s cricket performance.
Eventually it was time to take a drunken Toast home so we swapped numbers on the genuine promise of calling her all said goodbyes to the rest of the birthday crew and the painfully hip bar before parting ways.
Toast said to RB that he had basically already lost the wager as Noir was basically my type (great fringe, naughty eyes, pretty, cheeky) but wasn’t mental.
RB whispered to me that I had better be lovely to her or else. Yikes! Mind you, there’s no better way for her to look out her friend as she can read exactly what I’m up to here. Actually, on that basis I’m not sure why more people don’t want to set their eligible female friends up with us .