Saturday, 10 January 2004

Friday Night Drinks

The journey took us from London Bridge All Bar One (all rennovated and terribly suits-after-work but a good place to meet for a swift half) to Old Street where we had one drink in the Cantaloupe (really not sure about this on a Friday night, in fact, any night of the week anymore), ate in a kebab restaurant called Shish (was actually very good - being veggie I had a halloumi shish with red onion and peppers) and then into the Electricity Showroom for one for the road and finally home. And on the way noticed:

Blond upper-middle class girl, big teeth and a low forehead who let her lower lip slacken as if her tongue was too big.

A group of over-weight middle-aged IT or maybe sales end-of-the-week-drink. One of whom bore a passing resemblence to Jon Bon Jovi. He probably has a blond trophy wife.

Eyeball time for the young working man. Lets his hair down, oiled by a few pints and finally allows his eyes to wander over the rumps of his female colleagues.

The post man (not the sort who delivers letters but one who was leaning up a pillar) in a business suit, yellow necktie, blue shirt. The shirt was slightly too tight round the neck.

Tanktop man - 70s retro chic. Not quite retro enough to pull it off. His mate in combat pants and grey sweatshirt relying on his height to overcome his sticky out ears kept looking round whenever a laydee brushed past him as if they had touched his bum.

Two people talking animatedly in the middleof the bar. Couldn't decide whether they were having a row or not. Neither cracked even a glimmer of a smile for over an hour. Lots of punctuating the discussion with head pointing for emphasis. The woman had jeans so tight you could count the change in her pocket.

Just before we left the Cantaloupe in search of something more interesting I went to the toilet. Next to the ladies was a door labelled nothing interesting in here, with another opposite nor in here. And I know it was meant to but I had to open them becuase while in the toilet I imagined that it was a reverse psychology trick - most people would be too cool to try but if they did they would discover amazing underground bars where all the truely cool people had started drinking, all the gorgeous and interesting and unusal guys were in there (cos they certainly weren't upstairs) and a great time was guaranteed to be had. So in thinking that I wasn't going to be too cool to try the door I was bitterly disappointed when they were both locked. Such high expectations dashed. Further along the hall on the way back to the bar was another door The Cage. As I pushed that one, just in case, a man came by and read it with a tone that had one raised eyebrow. I said "I'm terribly disappointed there is nothing there to find", he said "if there was a cage in there I'd be right behind you darling". Probably a good thing it was locked then really.

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