Friday Night
Will came up at the weekend. He was due to arrive at 17.25 so my train at 17.11 was perfect except all the trains were running 25 minutes late and so I rung for a taxi but it didn’t arrive till 17.25 and then took 20 minutes to get there but all ended well when I got to the station. Then Will had problems getting money out of the cash machine, then Sainsbury’s didn’t sell pancetta and then Sainsbury’s had put their Marlo Lights up to £5.09 a packet!! I screamed out at this news – Will said I was camp but since I am the straightest man in the world … well second straightest, after MJW, I don’t believe him.
We got home had some pasta and were back out sharpish. We had a couple in Via Fossa. We happily sat down in a corner until some evil person turned off the lights so we couldn’t see so we moved to a more central position. It was good for me as I could see young Chris and he could see me and he was flirting outrageously. When we decided to go I asked him if he’d had a nice day off the day before (ooh I should remember to Blog Thursday next) and he thought that I’d asked him when his next day off is so somehow and all as a result of him mishearing me I am meeting him in the pub tomorrow night. I need to be careful though. He’s a really nice boy but I don’t to end up in an awkward position with his boyf, the manager of my local so I’m going to try and just have a chat and a flirt and nothing more.
Anyway we ended up in Churchills. It was quite busy and as I always do with company (except Karen because she comes for the karaoke) we ended up in the quiet end, watching two men who looked like younger brothers of Christopher Biggins and their friends, one of whom looked like the Algerian/Italian parented Frenchman I shagged in October and the other was the Indian guy from last night who complimented me on my singing. Anyhew, we carried on drinking, I had a Guinness with Tia Maria which was lovely and is my new favourite drink but they won’t serve it at Churchills, you have to do it yourself, pouring in the TM into the Guinness. At a quarter to 11 Steven and Ricky arrived. Will wasn’t as taken with Ricky as me, althought I had perhaps oversold him as he was all I’d talked about all evening. And the fact that I also fancied Steven and that he was a really nice funny guy. It became apparent after about five minutes that Ricky was absolutely mullered, so much so that it was all rather amusing. He kept telling me that he knew I fancied him but he didn’t care as he was straight, then admitted to getting off with some bloke, then told us the story about how he told his dad that he’s got his brown wings and how his mum and dad had ended up having to ask Ricky’s sister’s wife what that meant as they didn’t know – we also were told his cock was 9½ inches long which I don’t even care whether its true or not – I just like thinking about it! Ricky then decided to chat up some not very nice looking girl at the next table but within five minutes he was sat back with us with his tail between his legs. It was like watching a living car crash, but all very amusing!
Steven, Will and Ricky all wanted something to eat so we decided we’d have a curry. We got in a taxi and made our way down to Rusholme and on the way Ricky wound down the window and was shouting “Fucking Slag” to literally every woman we drove past. The rest of us hid our heads in shame until we reached curry mile. Will was amazed by it: how tacky and lit up it was, how many curry houses there were – the lot! We went to the Tabak so I could see my favourite waiter (but he wasn’t there) and it seemed to have changed. There was a sort of buffet bar where you paid a certain amount and could eat off there as much as you wanted but we all wanted proper curry and so ordered off the menu: three bhunas and one dopiaza, two rice and 8 chapattis. In the mean time we had poppadoms which were lovely and everyone avoided the nasty cabbage dip. Ricky spilt mango chutney all over his groinal area which I mopped up. When it arrived, it was possibly the hottest curry I’ve ever had. Poor Will’s was so hot for him that they offered to replace it with a korma. Ricky’s was too hot and he started shouting and bawling at the waiter to our extreme embarrassment, effing this and cunting that. We all had to apologise for quite how drink he was. The waiter was very good about it and even rang a taxi for us. We got the taxi man to drive us to Piccadilly to drop off Steven and Ricky. Even up to the point where we dropped them off, Ricky seemed very keen to stay at my flat which was both titillating and confusing – anyway we say them off and Ricky gave me about £11 for the taxi which was double what it cost but Steven said keep it so I did!
Got a text from Steven saying that Ricky had been telling a massive group of girls to fuck off on the train for 20 minutes - classy lad!
We got home had some pasta and were back out sharpish. We had a couple in Via Fossa. We happily sat down in a corner until some evil person turned off the lights so we couldn’t see so we moved to a more central position. It was good for me as I could see young Chris and he could see me and he was flirting outrageously. When we decided to go I asked him if he’d had a nice day off the day before (ooh I should remember to Blog Thursday next) and he thought that I’d asked him when his next day off is so somehow and all as a result of him mishearing me I am meeting him in the pub tomorrow night. I need to be careful though. He’s a really nice boy but I don’t to end up in an awkward position with his boyf, the manager of my local so I’m going to try and just have a chat and a flirt and nothing more.
Anyway we ended up in Churchills. It was quite busy and as I always do with company (except Karen because she comes for the karaoke) we ended up in the quiet end, watching two men who looked like younger brothers of Christopher Biggins and their friends, one of whom looked like the Algerian/Italian parented Frenchman I shagged in October and the other was the Indian guy from last night who complimented me on my singing. Anyhew, we carried on drinking, I had a Guinness with Tia Maria which was lovely and is my new favourite drink but they won’t serve it at Churchills, you have to do it yourself, pouring in the TM into the Guinness. At a quarter to 11 Steven and Ricky arrived. Will wasn’t as taken with Ricky as me, althought I had perhaps oversold him as he was all I’d talked about all evening. And the fact that I also fancied Steven and that he was a really nice funny guy. It became apparent after about five minutes that Ricky was absolutely mullered, so much so that it was all rather amusing. He kept telling me that he knew I fancied him but he didn’t care as he was straight, then admitted to getting off with some bloke, then told us the story about how he told his dad that he’s got his brown wings and how his mum and dad had ended up having to ask Ricky’s sister’s wife what that meant as they didn’t know – we also were told his cock was 9½ inches long which I don’t even care whether its true or not – I just like thinking about it! Ricky then decided to chat up some not very nice looking girl at the next table but within five minutes he was sat back with us with his tail between his legs. It was like watching a living car crash, but all very amusing!
Steven, Will and Ricky all wanted something to eat so we decided we’d have a curry. We got in a taxi and made our way down to Rusholme and on the way Ricky wound down the window and was shouting “Fucking Slag” to literally every woman we drove past. The rest of us hid our heads in shame until we reached curry mile. Will was amazed by it: how tacky and lit up it was, how many curry houses there were – the lot! We went to the Tabak so I could see my favourite waiter (but he wasn’t there) and it seemed to have changed. There was a sort of buffet bar where you paid a certain amount and could eat off there as much as you wanted but we all wanted proper curry and so ordered off the menu: three bhunas and one dopiaza, two rice and 8 chapattis. In the mean time we had poppadoms which were lovely and everyone avoided the nasty cabbage dip. Ricky spilt mango chutney all over his groinal area which I mopped up. When it arrived, it was possibly the hottest curry I’ve ever had. Poor Will’s was so hot for him that they offered to replace it with a korma. Ricky’s was too hot and he started shouting and bawling at the waiter to our extreme embarrassment, effing this and cunting that. We all had to apologise for quite how drink he was. The waiter was very good about it and even rang a taxi for us. We got the taxi man to drive us to Piccadilly to drop off Steven and Ricky. Even up to the point where we dropped them off, Ricky seemed very keen to stay at my flat which was both titillating and confusing – anyway we say them off and Ricky gave me about £11 for the taxi which was double what it cost but Steven said keep it so I did!
Got a text from Steven saying that Ricky had been telling a massive group of girls to fuck off on the train for 20 minutes - classy lad!
posted by Matt @ 12:57 PM
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