Rain, rain, go away...

Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
Trip End Ongoing

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Flag of United Kingdom  , England,
Saturday, July 7, 2012

Big night out planned.  I spend the day doing sod all but sorting out my back pack to get out on the road again this week.  It really is a joy to shed the load and whittle my belongings down to not very much at all.  Somewhere thrown into this mix is ten hours straight of Red Dead Redemption on the X-box.  I'm starting to love being back.

I'm due to meet a friend of mine I have a little thing for somewhere in Camden.  I spend an age attempting to pick out the right clothes from the terrible selection I've left myself, with everything else still stuck in storage.  With my hair becoming it's own thing and sprouting wildly, I borrow my sisters hair straighteners (because they're better than mine) and I get to work.  About half an hour later I've tamed it to within manageable levels, and I stride out into the pissing rain.  Someone somewhere really does have a sense of humor.

Let's cut a long story short, since you already know where this is going.  I obviously stand no chance with my friend, probably because she's Swedish and I'm not tall enough.  That and every time I move away some other dude steps in, slurring his introductions and doing his best not to look at her cleavage.  It's like I don't exist, as if I'm to be brushed aside as no threat at all.  "HAHAHAHA" I hear them bleat in their heads; "she's definitely NOT with HIM!"  How this ends up to be all too true.  Thank fully my good friend Tim arrives to take the edge of the bar loneliness, and when I finally spot the tongue of a Ralph Lauren wearing sweater-neck-toffee-Brit-wanker down her throat, I barely mumble a goodbye and disappear with a rain cloud.

Some time later Tim and myself find ourselves talking nonsense to a load of 19 year olds who really think they know better about everything.  As ever I can't stop myself from trying to achieve the status of 'Mr Generous', and in spite of having a slanging match with one uncouth egocentric young priss, I'm buying a round at the bar.  Half an hour and a dodgy hot dog later and I'm getting soaked to the skin in a taxi queue.  When I stumble in the door I discover the internet doesn't work and I pass out in wet clothes while coming to the conclusion that it really hasn't been my night.  The grandiose triumphant return of the prodigal son a total washout.          
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