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Posts Tagged ‘rock’

For those about to rock, we salute you

July 19, 2011 1 comment

Hello all, this is Marty McFly, from the distant past! Well, ok, it’s Biscuit but it does feel like I’m from the distant past. It’s not that I don’t love you any more (promise) I’ve just either had NO time to write or Jen has been here, making it a bit difficult to do!

I have a few important accounts to write up, then there’s gonna be something of a montage post to bring us up to date. Here’s the first (from about 2 months ago it seems):

My favourite night out involves a lot of vodka Red Bull, several hours of rock music and dance moves to make your dad cringe with embarrassment. I had been promising to take Jen there for ages and eventually (sometime around late May) I made good on that promise.

She rocked up from work in a black leather jacket, tight jeans, and a figure hugging black vest top. First stop was the warm up pub wherewe were due to meet a friend of Jen’s who was due to join us.

They say “first impressions last”. The friend’s first impression of me was when I leant over his shoulder at the bar, whilst Jen was still looking for him. He heard a tall man order “4 double vodkas, straight, over ice” then follow with “Oh, I’ve left my money in the cash machine, I’ll be right back” and thought “glad I’m not out with him”.

But, lucky boy, he was out with me!

Once we’d all become acquainted we drunk a lot of vodka mixed with contraband Red Bull smuggled into the pub down my pants and made balloon models for strangers. After the customary spazzing around we hit the club.

I’m the kind of person who gets all fretful about plans until I’m settled in wherever I’m supposed to be. Because of this we were in the club before most other people had got there. The friend was wondering what sort of barren warehouse party I’d brought him to.

The magic of the place is that you don’t really notice it filling up or time passing until you look round and realise it’s rammed with long haired occupants dressed in black and throwing their best air guitar.

Jen was totally at home and did me proud.

We all got drunk. Very drunk!

At one point a boy sidled up to Jen when I was away at the bar and tried some terrible cheesy line on her. He was still there when I got back, which I found quite amusing, but my masculine imposing figure must have scared him off.

That, or the fact that I was wearing colours and he shuns the gaiety as a vampire would garlic.

Eventually, it was time to pack the air guitar away and join the nocturnal zombies on the streets in search of a ride home.

We said goodbye to the chum (we were now best buddies, the vodka incident just fuelled my mythos in the end)  and made our way home for a lot of painkillers and very little sleep.

Marriage Percentage: 68% – Being able to rock out with your metaphorical cock out is an absolute MUST and Jen can flash her imaginary penis with the best of them!

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Dancing with a lady

April 19, 2011 5 comments

Biscuit

One of the things that enjoyed most about living with Dragonforce was going to gigs and festivals and being able to get drunk, bounce around being punched by sweaty strangers and have an awesome time without the need to babysit anyone or feel bad for having fun. I’ve been to gigs with girlfriends before and it’s sapped my enjoyment if I can’t be where I want to be or feel guilty for being where I want to be and having to keep running back to check they’re ok.

When I last saw Jen we spent a lot of time swapping music recommendations and I invited her to join me at a filthy electro rock gig I had the following week.  This was real make or break stuff. Seriously, had potential to be a bit moshy so it really could have been ‘break’!

Having spent the week with an ambivalent mix of excitement and trepidation she arrived at mine looking suitably attired for a gig: leather jacket, flats and some rather slinky jeans. Also her accidental Princess Diana haircut had now grown out to a fiery, slightly shaggy, rock chick cut. I was so proud that I wanted to take a photo to start an instructional “Dummies Guide to Gig Going” manual.

Because I had insisted on buying the tickets, she insisted on buying the booze. After the support band we settled into a comfortable spot in the crowd (after I’d finished mincing around, fretting that we’d not get where I wanted to).

When going to gigs with Dragonforce we used to use fluro wristbads to find eachother in a crowd. Her being about 5′ 10″ helped too. Despite being at a tiny venue with Jen, there was a not unreasonable chance of losing her as she is 5′ 3″.

As it turned out, she was brilliant. After the initial surge when the crowd sorted itself into ‘dancy’ and ‘non-dancy’ people, I slotted her into a space in front of me where she had a good view. We bounced around threw embarrassing spazzy shapes with abandon.  She was gleefully absorbed in dancing whilst I would bound off for the odd song for tussle , then come back dripping with sweat to see her grinning at me. or whilst I fought off the bodies that would ricochet too near to us and I was worried about her getting hurt (I needn’t have been, she can look after herself)

She was even highly amused when, after kissing me, I unconsciously wiped my hand across my mouth because of sticky lipstick (hers, not mine… Wow, I’m really building myself up as a hot date)

I don’t think the night could have gone better. The more I date her, the more I feel like I’ve discovered a partner in crime. This is five dates now. FIVE! Look at me being a grown up and taking it slowly!

Marriage percentage: 57%

I would ordinarily add WAY more for that kind of excellent gig performance but she is already very high as it is. Is that a fair approach? If I had put on the  15% (at LEAST) that would otherwise be worth then we’ll be almost over the 70% and that leaves little headroom before we hit 100% and I have to propose.

I at least need to ask her more about her cat first.

Ménage à Tragedy – Redux

February 5, 2011 2 comments

Biscuit

In a bizarre twist of déjà vu (….didn’t you just say that?), the latter part of my night last night was exactly the same as one I had back in September. We’ll get to that in a moment though…

The Secret Gig and the Americans
A very old chum of mine was visiting town so we arranged to go out for some old skool rock in the evening. During the day I got really excited as I found out about a secret Frank Turner gig in a small Camden pub. The last time I saw this man play was with 4,999 other people in a sold out Brixton Academy so I was practically weeing myself with excitement!

Anyway (excited boast over) the gig was AWESOME in every way I could have possibly wanted it to be and we ended up staying for ages after as the DJ was playing a fantastic mix of dance-tastic anthems (Jackson 5, Blur, Rhianna, Stevie Wonder etc.). I enthusiastically started yakking to three girls because I thought someone said one was from New York. Actually, two were from Colorado and the other from Missouri or some other place I’ve only heard of in films.

I might have made them rude balloons, that never hurts.

Although I wasn’t actually intending on hitting on them at all, they are in the country for the next three months so I proposed hooking up for shenanigans and took an email address. The ‘.edu’ address confirmed what I thought, that they were clearly student age . *sigh* just when I thought I was meeting grown ups! I do love their accents though. There’s a post in that another time.

Little Miss Sunshine and Stripy Dress – round two
After much jiggling and shape throwing we left the Americans to it and moved on for a night of ’90s rock and metal. This was where I experienced a bizarre repeat of the same night I had there last time. I had arranged to meet Little Miss Sunshine there as that’s a regular haunt of hers. Stripy Dress was ALSO there. Stripy Dress’s ex was also there. Again. It’s a tiny venue so you can’t  avoid people really.

WEIRD!!!

Things played out a lot better this time though since I’m no longer in a weird hinterland with Stripy Dress. I promised my chum (and myself) that I would play it cool and disinterested.

Having failed at that I just gave her a beaming grin and a big “OHAI!” when I found myself standing next to her and had just ‘noticed’ she was there *ahem*.  She actually looked really pleased to see me and gave me a big hug. Annoyingly I still REALLY fancy her. She has a really distinctive scent to her hair, possibly because she’s mixed race and so has it chemically straightened to avoid the afro hair, and several times in the evening I caught the smell and it makes me come over slightly adoring and weak kneed.

I was genuinely nice to see her and if I hadn’t seen her being very chummy and a little kissy with her ‘ex’ then I might have mistaken the friendliness for light flirting. Anyway, I know better than to get sucked back into THAT!

Playing cool: largely failed. However dignity still largely intact so I call that a low level win for team Biscuit.

Little Miss Sunshine was lovely and buoyant as ever it it was a joy to see her. We’re meeting up for a gig in a week so we’ll get to hang out more them.

I can’t imagine there’s many places in the world that you can cram all those different experiences into one night, barely 1 minute walk from each other. I have a really clear memory from last night of standing on the pub dancefloor with my fists clenched and my face screwed up whilst I kept saying to my chum, through clenched teeth: ” GOD… I LOVE London SOOO MUCH!!! I LOVE IT!!! SOOO. SOO. MUCH!!!!!”

The wonder of whimsy

October 11, 2010 3 comments

Biscuit

This last week has been so utterly exhausting that I was thoroughly looking forward to crashing out in front of a film on Friday night whilst Toast was on his blind date.

However, that evening I received a text from a good friend of mine  who was unexpectedly in London for the evening. Under normal circumstances it would be bad form to refuse such an offer and since I hadn’t seen him for a year or so it would have been been a social crime to stay in.

This is exactly why London is awesome.

I didn’t catch up with him until almost 10. After a few drinks he had to head off as he had an early morning drive, which is an unassailable excuse.

Feeling rather tipsy and thoroughly gleeful, this was my chance to head home to catch up on the details of Toast’s date and still have time for a decent night’s sleep.

As I walked into my favourite rock club and scanned the dancefloor for a recently acquired drinking buddy, I pondered quite how thrilling and dangerous London is. Happenstance and whimsy reign and all you need is willing and a reasonable amount of banked sleep. And a healthy amount of disposable income.

I will have to make to with 1 out of three.

The highlight of the evening was the man dressed in a homemade ‘cardboard boxes and tin foil’ robot suit.

Second highlight was getting the number of a redhead  girl with a great fringe. This took a little effort to secure as I saw her a few times before there was an appropriate opportunity to make a move so I was rather pleased when she was game for a drink. Deciding that friends, robots and girls had provided me with my fill of fun for the evening I could now skip contentedly home.

(for ‘skip’ substitute ‘take the hour-long night bus journey’)

Whilst waiting for my bus I made friends with a trio of revellers who were loudly discussing the hopeless romantic failings of their male companion. Feeling this was exactly my sort of territory (failed romance) I jumped into the conversation with the two girls to offer the sagely benefit of the years of my experience.

As they were all going the same way, we became bus chums and carried on the conversation at great length and in inappropriate detail all the way home, much to the annoyance delight of our fellow passengers.

I grabbed a number from the naughtiest of the girls, on the promise of catching up with them all on facebook, as we pulled up to my stop. Since then has been quite friendly and a bit naughty on the texts.

Blimes!

Lessons learned:

  • Robots are more exciting than girls. FACT.
  • Dancefloor camera-phone photography is not my strong point.
  • I need to bank more sleep for whimsical nocturnal adventures.
  • Night-busses are a legitimate and exciting way of meeting new people.

P.S. Toast neglected to mention one crucial detail of the following night when his chum RB (who knows about the blog) was visiting. I asked if she had any eligible marriage-worthy friends who she would be prepared to set us up with.

She replied “Ordinarily yes…. but, err, not right now”.

I’m not sure what kind of cads she’s taken us for.

“I’d be a fucking lucky break, especially for one of those twats”

September 12, 2010 14 comments

Biscuit

Friday night night was something of a last minute plan. With Dragonforce now in Quatar, I agreed to meet a man I barely know to go drinking on the rock scene. Toast then gleefully announced that the planets had aligned in his favour and he *would* go to the ball come to London after all.

“You two really are a right pair of pussies.” – FleetStreetFox

In a ‘come one, come all’ spirit, I threw the invite to join us open to all who I thought might fancy it. I was joined by FleetStreetFox who, prior to meeting us a week earlier had scathingly taken us for a couple of inept morons. Whilst that may well be the case, we were clearly shaping up to be a likeable couple of inept morons at least.

“Your joint state of pathetic romantic anxiety would probably not help you get invited to any [threesomes]”
– FleetStreetFox

With Toast planning to hook up with us after meeting Betty Page I attempted to coerce Scalene to join us to in an effort to reunite the anonymous blogger quartet from the previous week, but he was otherwise engaged on a non-romantic encounter.

“You three would make the world’s least successful and most inept sexual tag team.” – FleetStreetFox

FleetStreetFox was again living up to her moniker, dressed in figure hugging black and leather; serendipitously the unofficial uniform of the rock scene, so she fitted right in!

Alternately pouring caustic scorn on the perceived fashion crimes of the venue’s incumbents and confusing Toast by replying to his Betty Page updates on my phone, she was thoroughly enjoyable company once again.

“Biscuit would have to be Soggy Sam. Liable to wilt under pressure.” – FleetStreetFox

After a while I even managed to overcome her reticence and enourage her onto the dancefloor, which felt like a deleted scene from “School of Rock” where Jack Black teaches that it’s easy to dance to rock music after all.

Then something utterly surprising happened. Standing at the top of the stairs we were face to face intently discussing something that has long since ceased to be important. The next I knew, we were kissing! Blimes!

Leaving for home shortly after, we grabbed a taxi back to mine as she had previously arranged to crash in the spare room. There may have been unspecified further hijinks but, being a gentleman (and fearing for my vital organs) there will be no further details.

Or at least someone attempted hijinks but I was having none of it because I’m not that kind of boy.

” I still think that eventually one of you, or Scalene, will elope with the foxy FleetStreetFox.” Molly Bennett

“You will have to arrange a lobotomy too. And get several bottles into me.” – FleetStreetFox

Throughout the night, I had taunted her that every time she rifled through my phone/facebook/email messages (ever the tabloid journalist) I was deducting from her final marriage percentage.

With this in mind, and obligated by the rules to provide a M%.  I can officially declare the final figure.

Marriage percentage: minus 13%

All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable night with great company! Now, if  she could just refrain from trying to find out if I am conducting an illicit homosexual affair with my ‘advisor’ or am hiding a body under the patio then she could have retained the previously healthy score. She can’t say I didn’t warn her!

*runs away and hides… and changes name…*

If there is a lesson here, then it is surely the following: We might APPEAR to be utterly hapless twats, but we are at least personable with it!

“I am NOT ‘an opportunity’, neither.  I’d be a fucking lucky break, especially for one of those twats. JESUS.” – FleetStreetFox

Menage a Tragedy

September 9, 2010 3 comments

Biscuit

BISCUIT IS BACK ON THE INTERNET!!!! =D  This time, with added ‘London’.

What’s more, it’s been my birthday, which was celebrated pre-emptively (and accidentally) with Toast, Scalene and FleetStreetFox; the result of which you already know if you have read Toast’s account of the evening and his very cryptic clue as to who was sick (‘rhymes with ‘Miscuit’… thanks).

I eventually made it to work for 3pm, “still obviously drunk” according to a colleague, and left at 5pm to start the post work drinks for round 2 of celebrations. Given all this, my actual birthday the following day was a quiet affair involving a hot bath, a cold beer, a good book and an early night!

Friday however, this was the night I had been waiting for. The night when I had actually planned not only to party, but to finally meet a girl who a mutual friend had been trying to set me up with. Previously referred to a ‘Wildcard‘, because she appeared to be SUCH an outside chance I now dub her Little Miss Sunshine as she is the most RELENTLESSLY positive and cheery person I have perhaps ever met!

Not ‘relentlessly positive’ in a “GEE! I just LOVE Mondays, they make me think of rainbows and kittens!!!” kind of way… but the kind of person who inspires you to be cheerful, optimistic and make the most of every opportunity.

Such a promising night full of all the right ingredients could only go one way… yep… WRONG!

First, the last of my friends flaked out on me, leaving me with no one to drink with. This has become more of a problem in the last few years as they are all getting old(er) and settled. Little Miss Sunshine, in true galvanising style, invited me out if I wanted to fly solo. On advice from both Toast and FleetStreetFox I decided to go all ‘carpe diem’!  …or ‘carpe noctum’ at least.

Biscuit hits town…

As she would not be their until about 11.30, I had a few hours of preparatory getting drunk and playing Rock Band to do. Nicely lubricated I jumped on the tube and eventually arrived at the club.

Unfortunately, a significant wardrobe malfunction meant she was late and so left me half hour or so to amuse myself.

Having moved to London to escape the incestuous small town cliques, I was slightly disheartened to see that Stripy Dress’s ex was there (the one that caused her to go into a tailspin at Sonisphere). This wasn’t a problem in itself as he doesn’t know me, but did not bode well for escaping cliques!

After about 3/4 hour, Little Miss Sunshine gleefully weaved her way towards me on the dancefloor. After a swift introduction to her chums  I grabed her a drink and we had a quick round of enthusiastic ‘hello!’ chats before heading back to dance.

She is TINY (to me at least), full of beaming smiles, a cheeky Estuary English accent and a mischevious glint in her eye. Standing pretty at 5’3″ with an cracking figure she cut a great presence on the dance-floor. Suddenly things were rather looking up!

Feeling buoyant with new acquaintances, the perfect balance of booze inside me and a pretty girl who I seemed to have a lot in common with, things could only go up from here.

Next thing I knew, a tap on my shoulder left me looking straight into the face of Stripy Dress.

This was the very situation I had specifically been trying to avoid. After my last post wrapping things up with the Dress, she did actually warm up again and so I decided to just roll with it and see if there was still any potential, although the hot-cold behaviour was still the order of the day.

Stripy Dress and Little Miss Sunshine seemed to know all the same people, although not each other. So, there is me, Little Miss Sunshine, Stripy Dress and her ex all within about 15 square feet of each other. At one point they were actually dancing side-by-side.

Far from being some kind of erotic fantasy, this was the worst of both worlds. I had to play it very low-key with both and was really quite stressed by it all. Whilst I am still prepared to put in work with Stripy Dress, this was supposed to be the night to get to know Little Miss Sunshine.

The coup de grâce was when I realised that Stripy Dress had left without even saying goodbye. I should not care but this pretty much finished off the night for me. Thanking Little Miss Sunshine and promising to see her soon I made my way home, somewhat cross and dejected.

As it turned out, Stripy Dress was actually hammered and apologised the following day as she was taken home and did a sick. Still, it had been the proverbial nail in the coffin for the night.

Despite the layers of misfortune, going out was clearly the right thing to do. I met new chums, an awesome girl and grabbed my new London life by the prickly horns.

From initial impressions, Little Miss Sunshine is exactly the sort of person that everyone should have in their life. I need to get to know her better to see if there’s anything more than great music taste and an obscenely upbeat approach to life in common, but it’s very postive!

Marriage percentage – 30%.

Lessons learned:

  • Both ‘noctum’s and ‘diem’s should be ‘carpe’d at every opportunity.
  • Girls will never fail to surprise you with their capacity to make a great situation obscenely awkward.
  • Don’t wear your favourite white T-shirt to a venue with a floor which appears to be coated in mud.

London part 2 – Beware the perils of alcohol

February 2, 2010 1 comment

Biscuit

Despite somewhat hurried preparation (caused by an almost infinite ability to faff), the first leg of the ‘Big London Trip’ started well (if 4 hours later than intended). More through serendipity than planning Toast and I met briefly for an illicit handover of baggage. Then, laden like a Sherpa on his way up Machu Picchu, I dumped the collective supplies at the hostel and took the opportunity to ‘freshen up’ before my date.

‘Freshening up’ in this instance is not the kind that I am lead to believe American women do in the restroom of a classy restaurant. This is the pre-date ‘freshen up’  when you’re basically already ready for the date and dressed an’ stuff  but want to check for rogue spinach in the teeth, cocks drawn up on the forehead from sleeping on the train, make sure the barnet is appropriately coiffured etc. The final part of the F.U. is a ‘just in case’ precaution. Now, when I relayed this part of the story to Toast and chums in the pub the boys nodded with understanding and the girls looked at me somewhat incredulously with an air of slight disbelief.

Basically, to ensure no unpleasant surprises in case the date were to unexpectedly progress to sexy time, a quick wash of the old chap whilst standing at the sink creates a fresh and inviting ambience suitable for the whole family (note: not actually suitable for children or those of a fragile disposition).

The light in the en-suite bathroom was broken but there was enough illumination from the window to operate. The soap was the kind that comes in a squirty plastic bottle so a couple of quick jets into the hand and the job was done. …or it would have been had it ACTUALLY been soap and not alcohol hand sanitiser.

Top tip: alcohol hand sanitiser is not appropriate for intimate cleansing. Seriously… it’s REALLY not. The only saving grace was that no one was in the room to see my special dance whilst it all evaporated.

Preliminaries out of the way, and tissue damage inflicted, I contacted my date to finalise the location. This had been left to the last minute as it was due to be just somewhere local. I suggested that the pub under the hostel was probably the best bet as it was quietish and I bagsied a comfy sofa.

Things did not start well. In the intervening half hour, a young emo couple took up residence in the sofa opposite and started face sucking. Then the lights above the sofas were dimmed and it looked to the casual observer like I’d deliberately sat in ‘sexy corner’.

My date turned up a little late. Nothing major but it turned out that my poor knowledge of local geography had resulted in me sending her towards a tube station that was in the opposite direction. This is apparently a bad way to start a date. She was clearly slightly nonplussed that I had been a bit of a spaz but giving me a light ribbing about it seemed to ease her mood very quickly.

It took a while before conversation settled into a rhythm and we tapped into good threads of discussion. There were a couple of those moments early on where we both took a sip on our drink and looked around whimsically whilst we quickly pondered our next conversational move.

In truth I struggle to remember what she was wearing. Girls who are my friends hate me for this inability. They want to know details about pretty things to do with decorations and clothes when I tell stories but I always disappoint with a vague concept of the details they want, as though I’m recounting the tale second hand. There’s also an outside possibility that the lack of memory might also be to do with the drinks that I had with Toast later. Hmm…

I DO remember that she had quite impressive golden locks (and that I did not once mention porridge), and skinny black jeans. I also found that, whilst fairly pretty, I did not overly fancy her although I suspect the feeling was mutual!

A strange pattern that I have noticed is that I seem to attract a lot of girls that are into horses. I don’t know what this means, but when I discovered that my date had once been in pony club we were kept in light piss-taking chat for a while!

After the slightly rocky start, the date actually went ok. It was pleasant. We decamped to a neighboring restaurant when the pub turned into loud rock night (fun for dancing, no fun for discussing!). There was clearly no chemistry but the chats were easy and interesting and I reckon you can gauge a person pretty well by their taste in comedy. Alan Partridge may not be sexy but knowledge of improves dates’ standing. In summary, marriage potential: M10%.

We finished off our food and at about half 10 we said our goodbyes (and almost walked out of the restaurant without paying). I then shot off to meet Toast and chums at the pub.

…and for the record: I won the cockney-offTM.

<!–[if !mso]> <! st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } –> Despite somewhat hurried preparation (caused by an almost infinite ability to faff), the first leg of the ‘Big London Trip’ started well (if 4 hours later than intended). More through serendipity than planning Toast and I met briefly for an illicit handover of baggage. Then, laden like a Sherpa on his way up Machu Picchu, I dumped the collective supplies at the hostel and took the opportunity to ‘freshen up’ before my date.

‘Freshening up’ in this instance is not the kind that I am lead to believe American women do in the restroom of a classy restaurant. This is the pre-date ‘freshen up’  when you’re basically already ready for the date and dressed an’ stuff  but want to check for rogue spinach in the teeth, cocks drawn up on the forehead from sleeping on the train, make sure the barnet is appropriately coiffured etc. The final part of the F.U. is a ‘just in case’ precaution. Now, when I relayed this part of the story to Toast and chums in the pub the boys nodded with understanding and the girls looked at me somewhat incredulously with an air of slight disbelief.

Basically, to ensure no unpleasant surprises in case the date were to unexpectedly progress to sexy time, a quick wash of the old chap whilst standing at the sink creates a fresh and inviting ambience suitable for the whole family (note: not actually suitable for children or those of a fragile disposition).

The light in the en-suite bathroom was broken but there was enough illumination from the window to operate. The soap was the kind that comes in a squirty plastic bottle so a couple of quick jets into the hand and the job was done. …or it would have been had it ACTUALLY been soap and not alcohol hand sanitiser.

Top tip: alcohol hand sanitiser is not appropriate for intimate cleansing. Seriously… it’s REALLY not. The only saving grace was that no one was in the room to see my special dance whilst it all evaporated.

Preliminaries out of the way, and tissue damage inflicted, I contacted my date to finalise the location. This had been left to the last minute as it was due to be just somewhere local. I suggested that the pub under the hostel was probably the best bet as it was quietish and I bagsied a comfy sofa.

Things did not start well. In the intervening half hour, a young emo couple took up residence in the sofa opposite and started face sucking. Then the lights above the sofas were dimmed and it looked to the casual observer like I’d deliberately sat in ‘sexy corner’.

My date turned up a little late. Nothing major but it turned out that my poor knowledge of local geography had resulted in me sending her towards a tube station that was in the opposite direction. This is apparently a bad way to start a date. She was clearly slightly nonplussed that I had been a bit of a spaz but giving me a light ribbing about it seemed to ease her mood very quickly.

It took a while before conversation settled into a rhythm and we tapped into good threads of discussion. There were a couple of those moments early on where we both took a sip on our drink and looked around whimsically whilst we quickly pondered our next conversational move.

In truth I struggle to remember what she was wearing. Girls who are my friends hate me for this inability. They want to know details about pretty things to do with decorations and clothes when I tell stories but I always disappoint with a vague concept of the details they want, as though I’m recounting the tale second hand. There’s also an outside possibility that the lack of memory might also be to do with the drinks that I had with Toast later. Hmm…

I DO remember that she had quite impressive golden locks (and that I did not once mention porridge), and skinny black jeans. I also found that, whilst fairly pretty, I did not overly fancy her although I suspect the feeling was mutual!

A strange pattern that I have noticed is that I seem to attract a lot of girls that are into horses. I don’t know what this means, but when I discovered that my date had once been in pony club we were kept in light piss-taking chat for a while!

After the slightly rocky start, the date actually went ok. It was pleasant. We decamped to a neighboring restaurant when the pub turned into loud rock night (fun for dancing, no fun for discussing!). There was clearly no chemistry but the chats were easy and interesting and I reckon you can gauge a person pretty well by their taste in comedy. Alan Partridge may not be sexy but knowledge of improves dates’ standing. In summary, marriage potential: M10%.

We finished off our food and at about half 10 we said our goodbyes (and almost walked out of the restaurant without paying). I then shot off to meet Toast and chums at the pub.

…and for the record: I won the cockney-offTM.