Not my cup of tea
You know, sometimes I think my life can’t get any weirder and then it does. I think someone in the heavens is looking down making weird things happen to me for their own amusement.
So on Friday I was going out with Michelle. I met her in Via Fossa where we had a drink then we went to the Lass O’ Gowrie to meet Chris, her other half, and had another and then settled in Kro2. Well settled … hmm, I’ll come on to that in a minute. So me and Michelle sat with Michelle’s old work mates including Alan (friendly cute young bearded gay ex colleague of Michelle) and then after that stood with Chris’s ex work colleagues. Having a nice time, we were, I’d just started my 5th pint, it’s about 8pm by this time and Michelle gets a phone call: one of her cats has been hit by a car and killed so her and Chris go home, leaving me in Alan’s hands, but Alan and his friends are going after their drink so with the night still young I thought I had 3 options go to Cleck (but it would have been half past nine by the time I got there, go home or go to Canal Street. Guess which I did.
Went to Churchill’s which was crap. I moved seats 3 times (Richard, eat your heart out) as people sat in mine when I went to the bar or loo so in the end, after 3 pints) I got a bit fed up with having to move and went to the New Union. Now the last time I was in there I pulled the thieving chavs so I was a bit reluctant but thought I’d have one or two more, even though I was a bit addled by this point so I had a pint and stood by the dancefloor. Stood next to a stunning man who could have been a model but he’s not part of the story, I just wanted to mention him. Had another pint and this guy came up to me (cute, looked like a cross between Bradley Walsh, Vinnie Jones and Dale Winton – sounds like a strange combination but he was nice) and started dancing with me. He had a manner which was very reminiscent but I just couldn’t think who he reminded me off. He then disappeared again so I thought nothing more of him but then he was back buying me a pint and then he disappeared again – it was all very weird and then by the time I had drunk the pint he was back at the bar so I bought one back for him and asked if I could sit with him. He was a bit reluctant but said yes – when we sat down I could see why. He was sat with freaks!
There were 2 fat miserable lesbians who didn’t talk and there was Patricia the 66 year old mother of Lisa the 25 year old girlfriend of Darren the 34 year old boyfriend of Patricia, yes Darren was going out with the both of them, mother and daughter!!!!! How weird is that! Anyhew, the lesbians left, and as the weird threesome danced I chatted to this boy who turned out to be called Steve, 34 years old, and economics supply teacher from Liverpool, it all seemed very positive – at last a normal man, thank goodness!! He’d been over to Leeds working and got of the coach at Manchester to avoid the weird builder man who’d made him a bracelet out of woven pieces of sheathing for electric wires, come for a pint and missed his connection to Liverpool so he wanted to know of saunas and clubs so that he could stay out all night. I offered him the inflatable double mattress (yeah right, like I was ever planning for him to sleep anywhere other than my bed with me) and he agreed so at about 1.30 we left.
I’d been out almost 8 hours, and had 12 pints and when we got home, Steve wanted wine and to chat while watching a DVD so we did, till gone 3am and then we went to bed. I was obviously going to up for nothing (quite literally) after 12 pints and half a bottle of wine but he said that he’d be up for it in the morning so both we retired to my bed. The next thing I knew, it was 4am and Steve was asking for me to open another bottle of wine (which I refused to do). I just turned over and carried on snoring. I was up at 8.30 so I woke him up, forced (well hardly forced … he didn't actually need any forcing - all he needed was a little encouragement) him to thank me for giving him a place to stay for the night and then he wanted a bath. And a glass of wine.
So there we are, at ten to ten in the morning sipping champagne. I though that we’d just have a glass but no, we had the whole bottle, then 2 large glasses of Bailey’s and then a bottle of red wine. It struck me over the drunken morning/early afternoon that he reminded me of Brian from Big Brother. He loved to be the centre of attention, was very self-obsessed and manic, very funny but also had very short concentration span and was very emotional. Everything seemed to either be brilliant or terrible. Anyway at half past three I managed to get him away from the drinks cabinet and out of the flat and so we went to the pub.
Everything seemed to be going so well. He was a nice (slightly volatile) cute friendly guy who fancied me. He also seemed to fancy drinking – all the time, but I didn’t let that bother me. He was cute, he fancied me … hey, I like a drink why should him liking a drink bother me. Well this is why:
We went back to the New Union, and in the bit we were sitting were a group of people: 4 middle aged men, two young girls and a middle aged woman – none of them gay, they just liked the atmosphere. There was also a cute skinhead talking to a chubby camp Scotsman. Anyway everyone was very friendly and Steve was chatting to all of them, well his chatting to the Scot didn’t go successfully as the Scot was really dry and Steve didn’t really understand the joke – me and the skinhead were hooting with laughter and there’s Steve not knowing why - I think this was the catalyst for everything that then happened - he didn't like looking the fool or having someone there who seemed funnier than him. I put some songs on the jukebox and the next thing, were all dancing together – it was really nice and such fun and then all of a sudden Steve is shouting and bawling saying that he’s been assaulted. One of the middle aged guys had apparently got hold of his shoulder and squeezed so hard that it had really hurt him. I said it was him just being friendly and being a bit too forceful perhaps, but Steve wouldn’t have it, he shouted and bawled so much that the poor man ended up leaving. Then Steve got shouted at by the barmaid for making so much noise and slowly everyone began coming up to Steve and checking that he was OK etc. and giving him lots of TLC. I thought it was just for attention and so wasn’t sympathetic and that made him cry so I tried to be a bit nicer and everything began improving and soon we were all back dancing. Then we got chatting to another of the middle aged men and he was talking to us about relationships and said that it was better to be in a relationship rather than prostitute your self about every Friday night. I agreed but Steve thought he was being called a prostitute. I tried to explain that that’s nether what he meant nor what the phrase literally meant but he wouldn’t listen, back crying wanting lots of attention, shouting at me saying that he’d been a victim twice and that I hadn’t been sympathetic or stuck up for him. I reasoned but he really wasn’t in the mood to be reasoned with so I ended up having to leave him there as everytime I tried to say something he wouldn't listen, he just talked over me and wouldn't met me get a word in.
Ah shame – he was a nice boy – but as nutty as a fruit cake in the end!
So on Friday I was going out with Michelle. I met her in Via Fossa where we had a drink then we went to the Lass O’ Gowrie to meet Chris, her other half, and had another and then settled in Kro2. Well settled … hmm, I’ll come on to that in a minute. So me and Michelle sat with Michelle’s old work mates including Alan (friendly cute young bearded gay ex colleague of Michelle) and then after that stood with Chris’s ex work colleagues. Having a nice time, we were, I’d just started my 5th pint, it’s about 8pm by this time and Michelle gets a phone call: one of her cats has been hit by a car and killed so her and Chris go home, leaving me in Alan’s hands, but Alan and his friends are going after their drink so with the night still young I thought I had 3 options go to Cleck (but it would have been half past nine by the time I got there, go home or go to Canal Street. Guess which I did.
Went to Churchill’s which was crap. I moved seats 3 times (Richard, eat your heart out) as people sat in mine when I went to the bar or loo so in the end, after 3 pints) I got a bit fed up with having to move and went to the New Union. Now the last time I was in there I pulled the thieving chavs so I was a bit reluctant but thought I’d have one or two more, even though I was a bit addled by this point so I had a pint and stood by the dancefloor. Stood next to a stunning man who could have been a model but he’s not part of the story, I just wanted to mention him. Had another pint and this guy came up to me (cute, looked like a cross between Bradley Walsh, Vinnie Jones and Dale Winton – sounds like a strange combination but he was nice) and started dancing with me. He had a manner which was very reminiscent but I just couldn’t think who he reminded me off. He then disappeared again so I thought nothing more of him but then he was back buying me a pint and then he disappeared again – it was all very weird and then by the time I had drunk the pint he was back at the bar so I bought one back for him and asked if I could sit with him. He was a bit reluctant but said yes – when we sat down I could see why. He was sat with freaks!
There were 2 fat miserable lesbians who didn’t talk and there was Patricia the 66 year old mother of Lisa the 25 year old girlfriend of Darren the 34 year old boyfriend of Patricia, yes Darren was going out with the both of them, mother and daughter!!!!! How weird is that! Anyhew, the lesbians left, and as the weird threesome danced I chatted to this boy who turned out to be called Steve, 34 years old, and economics supply teacher from Liverpool, it all seemed very positive – at last a normal man, thank goodness!! He’d been over to Leeds working and got of the coach at Manchester to avoid the weird builder man who’d made him a bracelet out of woven pieces of sheathing for electric wires, come for a pint and missed his connection to Liverpool so he wanted to know of saunas and clubs so that he could stay out all night. I offered him the inflatable double mattress (yeah right, like I was ever planning for him to sleep anywhere other than my bed with me) and he agreed so at about 1.30 we left.
I’d been out almost 8 hours, and had 12 pints and when we got home, Steve wanted wine and to chat while watching a DVD so we did, till gone 3am and then we went to bed. I was obviously going to up for nothing (quite literally) after 12 pints and half a bottle of wine but he said that he’d be up for it in the morning so both we retired to my bed. The next thing I knew, it was 4am and Steve was asking for me to open another bottle of wine (which I refused to do). I just turned over and carried on snoring. I was up at 8.30 so I woke him up, forced (well hardly forced … he didn't actually need any forcing - all he needed was a little encouragement) him to thank me for giving him a place to stay for the night and then he wanted a bath. And a glass of wine.
So there we are, at ten to ten in the morning sipping champagne. I though that we’d just have a glass but no, we had the whole bottle, then 2 large glasses of Bailey’s and then a bottle of red wine. It struck me over the drunken morning/early afternoon that he reminded me of Brian from Big Brother. He loved to be the centre of attention, was very self-obsessed and manic, very funny but also had very short concentration span and was very emotional. Everything seemed to either be brilliant or terrible. Anyway at half past three I managed to get him away from the drinks cabinet and out of the flat and so we went to the pub.
Everything seemed to be going so well. He was a nice (slightly volatile) cute friendly guy who fancied me. He also seemed to fancy drinking – all the time, but I didn’t let that bother me. He was cute, he fancied me … hey, I like a drink why should him liking a drink bother me. Well this is why:
We went back to the New Union, and in the bit we were sitting were a group of people: 4 middle aged men, two young girls and a middle aged woman – none of them gay, they just liked the atmosphere. There was also a cute skinhead talking to a chubby camp Scotsman. Anyway everyone was very friendly and Steve was chatting to all of them, well his chatting to the Scot didn’t go successfully as the Scot was really dry and Steve didn’t really understand the joke – me and the skinhead were hooting with laughter and there’s Steve not knowing why - I think this was the catalyst for everything that then happened - he didn't like looking the fool or having someone there who seemed funnier than him. I put some songs on the jukebox and the next thing, were all dancing together – it was really nice and such fun and then all of a sudden Steve is shouting and bawling saying that he’s been assaulted. One of the middle aged guys had apparently got hold of his shoulder and squeezed so hard that it had really hurt him. I said it was him just being friendly and being a bit too forceful perhaps, but Steve wouldn’t have it, he shouted and bawled so much that the poor man ended up leaving. Then Steve got shouted at by the barmaid for making so much noise and slowly everyone began coming up to Steve and checking that he was OK etc. and giving him lots of TLC. I thought it was just for attention and so wasn’t sympathetic and that made him cry so I tried to be a bit nicer and everything began improving and soon we were all back dancing. Then we got chatting to another of the middle aged men and he was talking to us about relationships and said that it was better to be in a relationship rather than prostitute your self about every Friday night. I agreed but Steve thought he was being called a prostitute. I tried to explain that that’s nether what he meant nor what the phrase literally meant but he wouldn’t listen, back crying wanting lots of attention, shouting at me saying that he’d been a victim twice and that I hadn’t been sympathetic or stuck up for him. I reasoned but he really wasn’t in the mood to be reasoned with so I ended up having to leave him there as everytime I tried to say something he wouldn't listen, he just talked over me and wouldn't met me get a word in.
Ah shame – he was a nice boy – but as nutty as a fruit cake in the end!
posted by Matt @ 9:39 AM
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