One Night in Colchester…
Posted on January 27, 2013
When I go to Colchester to visit my friend Stuart, it is like walking outside on a frosty morning and taking a huge lungful of fresh air. This is because like me, Stuart is single, and also like me, Stuart has the words “Epic Fail” printed next to his relationship status. Yet again, like me, Stuart has tried things like online dating agencies and discovered that they can be, if not approached carefully, a heady cocktail of heartache, disappointment and stress.
Going on what is effectively a blind date, can be more stressful than diffusing a nuclear device; I have spoken to a lot of people about internet dating recently and the general consensus is that if you are too keen, it scares potential partners shitless and if they are too keen, it scares you shitless. It’s a lose lose situation and it has to be something to do with defence mechanisms that kick in for either party…Or of course, your date has been battered the ugly stick or posted photographs from 1998. Whatever the case, if you are dipping your toes into the world of Internet dating, the deep end can be a very dangerous place, particularly one suspects, if you are a woman.
Anyway, Stuart and I meandered to Colchester and met up with Darren (DJ) and went on a minor pub crawl that culminated with a visit to a beer festival and that’s when things got ugly. It never ceases to amaze me how the margin of a few per cent can make all the difference with beer; I could drink 3.8% bitter all night long if the mood suited, but as soon as it goes above 4.5% I pay a visit to a town called oblivion. Quite why I thought that necking a few pints of SIX per cent beer called something like “Old Monkeys Bollocks” was a good idea, I really do not know.
Boozy night out: Me, DJ (middle) and Stuart (left).
You will be relieved to hear that I have never administered or taken a date rape drug and I am not even sure what it does to the victim, but what I experienced last night, wiped out a good hour of the evening from my memory bank. I can vaguely remember talking to a rotund little woman with glasses, but what I said I just don’t know, though the fact that I haven’t spent the day nursing a stilletoed eye socket indicates that I must have behaved adequately enough. However, I remember nothing about a trip to Subway, visiting yet another bar or indeed, the journey home. That’s fucking bad…I could have ended up in Michael Barrymore’s swimming pool with a severely traumatised anus!
Still, I got back and I awoke this morning quite impressed that I had removed everything but my boxer shorts and one sock (steady girls, this is getting like 5o Shades!) that presumably, was one sock too many for me to deal with. Being the good lad that Stu is, he had all the ingredients necessary to make me a breakfast that sent my weekend calorie intake up to biblical proportions, metaphorically kicking sand in the face of my 2013 health kick that had seen the loss of six pounds. We then bummed around for a few hours playing Scrabble and drinking tea in total peace, it was a perfect Sunday morning really.
Then, that was it, a hearty hand shake and manly hug and I was on my way back up the A12 with my other best friend (my iPod) blasting out The Jam with no-one to tell me to turn it down. If you don’t have ‘Art School’ by The Jam on your iPod, download it, treasure it, and thank God that you read this blog.
Art School: Ideal track to keep you awake on the M25
I don’t want to be single forever, it would be great to find someone to share the roller coaster of life with, but it’s not so bad really, it actually quite suits me at this point in time, especially when I am blessed with friends like Stuart, who sits firmly in the same boat as me and is nothing other than great company to be with.
Though I am not sure what he was doing in my bed with his pet hamster during the early hours…