Friday night antics

Had a rather strange night last night.

It all started with some bubbly after work - it was a coworker's hen do. We then went on a booze cruise on the thames - got wasted and danced to crap music surrounded exclusively by straight women. After I escaped the hen night madness, I went to my local intending to meet a friend.

I sat by myself, occasionally bumming a light from a neighbouring chap. Some sketchy french guy insisted on sitting next to me and talking to me. Then got a call from above mentioned friend asking me to meet him at my flat, so I left - beer glass in hand to walk home. On the walk home I was fiddling with my ipod when a man ran up behind me, grabbed it out of my hand and ran off. I shouted at him something along the line of - you fucking twat, what are you doing?!

I called the police and continued walking home. The police called back to say they were on the way and then the doorbell rang. There were four lads in their twenties or thirties on my doorstep. One asked if they could come and and I said no, so they showed me their badges and my mobile number that I had given to the police on the phone. Fair enough - I let them in, gave them the details, declined their offer for a drive around to try to spot the guy as I wouldn't recognise him, and the thought of driving around with the cops made me uncomfortable.

Friend then arrived and we went back down to the pub. Closing time came quick and when I tried to walk out with my beer, the bouncer confiscated it. I saw the guy who I had bummed lights off and began chatting with him and his cousin. When we were chucked out of the pub, I invited them back to my flat, stopped at the shop to get some beer, then the four of us - me, friend, lighter guy, and his cousin, went back to the flat.

After a bit cousin left, friend went to bed, leaving me and lighter guy to have a snog. I honestly didn't have anything to talk to the guy about and was rather shocked to find out that he was 40. He must have said about a dozen times - I like you, can I call you tomorrow? Yea, yea, whatever. He then went home, leaving me to sleep off the booze.

I had made drunken plans by text to go to Brighton with Pirate Boy today, but on waking with a splitting headache, I texted to say I was too hungover.

Down one ipod, up one business card of a 40 year old bachelor. Not a fair trade.