Saturday, May 10, 2003
Never Talk To Strangers
Monday Morning (2am, house party, Camden):"Oh, jolly embarrassing, I know, but I do have the need to share it with someone, you understand? Oh, is that your name? Lovely meeting you. Now, about this problem situation of mine…"
Tuesday Evening (10.25pm, pub, Soho): "Naah, can't fool me, mate, your sort always know where to get some gear, like, doncha, know-wot-I'm-gettin'-at? Huh? You mean? Piss off then, stuck-up little queen."
Wednesday Evening (5.30pm, wine bar, Covent Garden): "You're a smashing, smashing fella. Yes, you really are really, really smashing. Really. Smashing, that's what you are. Ooh, just a Chardonnay then."
Thursday Evening (8.20pm, pub, Islington): "Got summat to tell you… Dunno what, but know've got summat to tell you."
Friday Evening (6.15pm, wine bar, Covent Garden): "I've broken too many hearts, you see. I've slept with far too many women. I'm going to hell, I tell you, I'm going to hell. Right to hell, that's where I'm going. To hell. She your girlfriend?"
Fine. OK. I can handle this. I accept that this past week has been my turn for attracting all the drunken strangers in town.
Next week, my dears, it's your turn. And don't worry, I'll find you. And the Stellas are on you.