Christ, my back hurts. I think I must've tried self-fellation last night only to fall asleep in that position. Combined with my still sore neck, I am walking as if I have a rod inserted up my rectum.
Another late night. I got home at 5am and phoned the Girl-Who-Would-Be-My-Girlfriend-If-She-Actually-Lived-In-London ladyfriend in New York. The call lasted 30 seconds. She wasn't in bed yet, but just said 'I'm having a bad day' and refused to talk any further, so we both said goodbye and hung up.
I think the words 'Bridges' and 'Destroyed in an inferno' are quite apt. I really don't see how our meeting up for a curry in two weeks will help either of us. I think she's in the final 'Hating Me for Ending It' stage.
More lack of sex last night. I got to the assigned pub for my inept-exam-board-reunion pissup. I had emailed around 30 people but in the event, a hardcore of eight came and went, mostly people who no longer work there, eager to catch up on old times.
And it was lovely. I insulted Stephen by suggesting his finding an attractive girlfriend was a miracle of such huge proportions the Vatican should be notified. Gus and I hadn't seen each other in so long we celebrated by chainsmoking despite having both quit. Sally stayed the longest and managed to avoid drinking any alcohol at all, which I found superbly impressive. Gay Rog (The homosexual version of me) was being, well, cynical and shagless. Elliot flapped a lot. Jon I hadn't seen for almost two years, and it lifted me to see his rosy, youthful face. He is probably the nicest, most sincere person I know. (Flipping cheerful Christians.) I would gladly* die single and alone for him to find happiness. He deserves it.
(*Alright, it's unlikely to be done gladly but that man needs to find a wonderful Ms Right.)
Everyone left. The evening then went queer as I went for another drink with Elliot and Gay Rog. I seemed oddly keener than them to go gay clubbing (Elliot wanted to get the last train home, and Gay Rog is pretty much fed up with The Scene.) I was just eager to meet women in gay bars who are there to avoid annoying straight guys like me (Women in gay bars are so much more receptive to men walking over and saying "Hello".)
Perhaps it's Gay Roger's aversion to the shallowness of some gay men, but he ran off when I spotted a cluster of them standing on Greek Street. Granted, I walked over there with the intention of saying 'Hello Deviants, do you like the look of those guys over there? Because they'd like some cock.' Maybe Gay Rog found this somehow humiliating. But then so did I, when they all ran off on seeing my approach, actually ran away, the most promiscuous people on the face of the Earth, despite my wearing the Smart-Casual Jacket™. I mean if I'm not even appealing to gay men who (I am reliably informed) will fuck anything full of testosterone, then what is the point of my continued existence?
Elliot and Gay Rog went home. I remembered The Hobo would be at Roxys, but he was actually near Camden. I was now quite drunk. I withdrew more money than I could afford, and tracked him and his work colleagues down. One was quite cute and looked like an Indian version of Halle Berry. I told her this and she seemed quite happy. We went on to another bar where the bald bloke from 80s group The The was allegedly having a drink. The doorman had initially turned us away for all having beards in one form or another (including a couple of the women in our party), but this turned out to be a joviality.
We danced to Herbie Hancock and left. It was raining slightly. Everyone disappeared and Hobo walked off to find a cab, leaving Halle Berry-ji and me to wait at a bus-stop. We indulged in some small talk. I was flirtatious. I cracked a few jokes. She was really keen on me too, and reciprocated by showing very little interest. And then a bus came and sorted things out by only going her way. I waited for a further half hour as it got chillier. Thank god I only had a mild cold and a very thin jacket and t-shirt.
Everyone clapped when the 27 turned up. I took the rear seat on the top deck of the bus. That way, if any scum get on, they're in front of me and not up to no good where I can't see what's going on behind me. And last night's scum were two teenage chav couples who began yelling, starting arguments and smoking dope. I honestly thought I'd end up in either a physical or verbal fight with these kids but for some miraculous reason, nothing they said or did was directed at me. Furthermore, they just about managed to do nothing overtly offensive to anyone else that would've forced me - albeit reluctantly - to intervene.
So that was last night. In summary, I caught up with old friends, I was rejected by gay men, I may have had some interest from a girl but I'm not sure, and I didn't get into a fight with a pair of obnoxious little yobs on the back of the nightbus.
In a parallel life, I'd be a happily married father of four with a wonderful, responsible job and a beautiful intelligent wife and living in my huge bastard house in Hampstead.