I’ve neglected my writings of late, settling instead for building perfect model Spitfires, watching amazing new Bond films and chasing my first threesome. The past week in a nutshell. Fitting then that I should write about my birthday night out, which just so happened to be one of the most unusual I have ever had. The quiet chocolate cake jumping-into-a-pool-at-midnight last year in Honduras seems to pale in comparison.
The day didn’t start well. I’m still waiting on my parcel from the UK, which should have arrived this morning. Apparently it’s not left the Post Office due to the coloured contact lenses being a ‘prohibited’ item. My Halloween is potentially ruined if I can’t do my Edward Cullen. I hate Twilight, but I can pull that off quite well. It always gets a lot of interest, it’s just a shame that the majority are 15-year-old girls.
Late evening I begin to deal with some friends issues. One has been recently dumped by his girlfriend and has turned to me for help in getting back on the horse. I’ve introduced him to a girl last week with whom he’s had a few dates. Now he’s turning up at my birthday drinks with his ex, but the new girl is also coming too. Cue freak out melodrama. I’ve actually got the two of them on facebook chat at the same time, as a go between. He said/she said. In the end I’ve managed to placate both, and everything is set for an interesting night.
The turn out it wonderful and really quite surprising. Then it starts to get messy. My friends’ new squeeze has turned up, she’s had a fight with him, he’s chosen his ex (also there), and then another friend arrives who turns out to be new girls ex man. Honestly I couldn’t write it. Coronation Street eat your heart out. It all ends in tears (chaotic, psychotic, bunny boiling tears), and I’ve woken up with bite marks on my arms from where she was trying to get my attention. She’s smashed her way round every other guy trying to make my friend jealous, finally ending up with some mis-guided, ill-informed suit in the club. Car crash doesn’t cover it.
Two ugly fat bastards are leering and lurching on every girl in sight. They’ve offered my friend money for sex. This is unacceptable. I’ve gone over to have it out with them, and one has thrown ice in my face before following with punches. I’ve slipped and he’s got me on my back, raining blows down which hit and miss. The actual severity of it must have been pretty low, because I was using both my hands to cover my modesty. My kilt had flown up and my penis was on show on the floor to the whole club. The bouncer intervenes and for some reason everyone involved is allowed to stay. By everyone, I mean me and fat bastard. I’d just given 200 Czech crowns to a homeless man too. Karma eh?
The night wears on, a giant woman tries to kiss me, I order several gins and fend off the advances of one or two I’m not really interested in. My eyes are set on someone else. Deciding it’s time to leave, we all pile outside and into a taxi. It’s there that the meat heads are waiting for me, with strength in numbers. Might have had something to do with the slit-your-throat gesture I made with my plastic Sgian Dubh earlier on.
He’s managed to find some friends. Quite how I have no idea, but there are around six of them hanging outside the club. I’ve closed the taxi door, and a guy I’ve never seen before has come over, opened it and tried to drag me out. As he’s got hold of my cardigan sleeve (sharp with skinny black tie and white shirt combo), the original perpetrator has walked over and cowardly punched me in the face. Finally the taxi driver decides to move off, and I smash the dashboard in frustration. He screeches to a halt, I throw open the door and storm out, leaving friends in the back of the vehicle.
All but two. Dave and Becca have disembarked to make sure I don’t do anything stupid, which I’m want to do, as I make a big, drunk arse show of going back to ‘get them’. I only want one. He must have had about six or seven shots at me and not so much as a bruise, although my face is a little tender writing this a day later. I just needed one cracker on his fat face and my pride would have been restored. A few minutes later I’m playing pool in a 24 hour sports bar.
As far as nights go it was up there with the best of them, although I’ve turned 33, not seen so much as a nipple, and got my head assaulted into the bargain Still, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and I’ve finally had something decent to write about from my weekly lethargy. Olomouc has been one crazy time, but it’s time has certainly come. With hell or high water, I intend to leave at the end of the week and see what Poland has in store for me. If it’s anything like here I’m in for a laugh-a-minute. Yet dented pride and broken face aside, I feel I’m getting closer to what I’m looking for. Oh and I got a pin badge birthday gift from a friend which reads; I’m Batman.
Birthday bashing
I’ve neglected my writings of late, settling instead for building perfect model Spitfires, watching amazing new Bond films and chasing my first threesome. The past week in a nutshell. Fitting then that I should write about my birthday night out, which just so happened to be one of the most unusual I have ever had. The quiet chocolate cake jumping-into-a-pool-at-midnight last year in Honduras seems to pale in comparison.
The day didn’t start well. I’m still waiting on my parcel from the UK, which should have arrived this morning. Apparently it’s not left the Post Office due to the coloured contact lenses being a ‘prohibited’ item. My Halloween is potentially ruined if I can’t do my Edward Cullen. I hate Twilight, but I can pull that off quite well. It always gets a lot of interest, it’s just a shame that the majority are 15-year-old girls.
Late evening I begin to deal with some friends issues. One has been recently dumped by his girlfriend and has turned to me for help in getting back on the horse. I’ve introduced him to a girl last week with whom he’s had a few dates. Now he’s turning up at my birthday drinks with his ex, but the new girl is also coming too. Cue freak out melodrama. I’ve actually got the two of them on facebook chat at the same time, as a go between. He said/she said. In the end I’ve managed to placate both, and everything is set for an interesting night.
The turn out it wonderful and really quite surprising. Then it starts to get messy. My friends’ new squeeze has turned up, she’s had a fight with him, he’s chosen his ex (also there), and then another friend arrives who turns out to be new girls ex man. Honestly I couldn’t write it. Coronation Street eat your heart out. It all ends in tears (chaotic, psychotic, bunny boiling tears), and I’ve woken up with bite marks on my arms from where she was trying to get my attention. She’s smashed her way round every other guy trying to make my friend jealous, finally ending up with some mis-guided, ill-informed suit in the club. Car crash doesn’t cover it.
Two ugly fat bastards are leering and lurching on every girl in sight. They’ve offered my friend money for sex. This is unacceptable. I’ve gone over to have it out with them, and one has thrown ice in my face before following with punches. I’ve slipped and he’s got me on my back, raining blows down which hit and miss. The actual severity of it must have been pretty low, because I was using both my hands to cover my modesty. My kilt had flown up and my penis was on show on the floor to the whole club. The bouncer intervenes and for some reason everyone involved is allowed to stay. By everyone, I mean me and fat bastard. I’d just given 200 Czech crowns to a homeless man too. Karma eh?
The night wears on, a giant woman tries to kiss me, I order several gins and fend off the advances of one or two I’m not really interested in. My eyes are set on someone else. Deciding it’s time to leave, we all pile outside and into a taxi. It’s there that the meat heads are waiting for me, with strength in numbers. Might have had something to do with the slit-your-throat gesture I made with my plastic Sgian Dubh earlier on.
He’s managed to find some friends. Quite how I have no idea, but there are around six of them hanging outside the club. I’ve closed the taxi door, and a guy I’ve never seen before has come over, opened it and tried to drag me out. As he’s got hold of my cardigan sleeve (sharp with skinny black tie and white shirt combo), the original perpetrator has walked over and cowardly punched me in the face. Finally the taxi driver decides to move off, and I smash the dashboard in frustration. He screeches to a halt, I throw open the door and storm out, leaving friends in the back of the vehicle.
All but two. Dave and Becca have disembarked to make sure I don’t do anything stupid, which I’m want to do, as I make a big, drunk arse show of going back to ‘get them’. I only want one. He must have had about six or seven shots at me and not so much as a bruise, although my face is a little tender writing this a day later. I just needed one cracker on his fat face and my pride would have been restored. A few minutes later I’m playing pool in a 24 hour sports bar.
As far as nights go it was up there with the best of them, although I’ve turned 33, not seen so much as a nipple, and got my head assaulted into the bargain Still, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and I’ve finally had something decent to write about from my weekly lethargy. Olomouc has been one crazy time, but it’s time has certainly come. With hell or high water, I intend to leave at the end of the week and see what Poland has in store for me. If it’s anything like here I’m in for a laugh-a-minute. Yet dented pride and broken face aside, I feel I’m getting closer to what I’m looking for. Oh and I got a pin badge birthday gift from a friend which reads; I’m Batman.