Life Is All About Taking Risks

Or you'd think, wouldn't you?

Well, after heading to Leeds festival and a much needed short break with my family, I returned to London more tranquil and relaxed. More at ease with the world... And much more aware of the fact that I've been single for 2 and a half years. It could only mean one thing; I needed to get laid.

On the day I got back, I already had plans to go out with a friend of mine, so I got dressed up to the nines and headed out. The club was empty and the music was bad, so I consoled myself with some alcohol. Never a good idea.

But not one to be put off, I took my chance on Saturday night to go out and bag some first rate gay.

But first, coffee with friends. It's always important to make time for friends. Especially when said friends suggest going to TGI Friday's to drink goblets (and I mean huge GOBLETS) of cocktails at 3pm. And then suggest going out to a bar at 7.30pm.

So we ended up at a bar where I very unfortunately knew the deputy manager. After another drink, my friend asked if the barman was gay or straight. She was interested for herself. So, I asked.

"We'd like to know too," said my friend the deputy manager.

Thus, I set about making it my business to know. As he finished his shift I sat down next to him and started talking. God knows what I said. I can't remember. I do, however, remember being outside with him, holding hands and doing a film quiz. However I managed to get from trying to help out a female friend to muscling in on this guy myself is beyond me.

Anyway, it was going well. We stepped outside. I suggested we go elsewhere and invited him back to mine. He freaked out.

I lost.

I went all the way home before I decided to go back to see if he came back. The deputy manager asked me what happened in an alarmed manner. Apparently he'd come back and drank 6 vodkas. Hmmm... I can't even remember if I said something he took badly.

I took the nightbus home and did something you should never do; pulled on the nightbus. He wasn't even attractive. I guess that's what desperation does to you. However, it wasn't tweo minutes before I was kicked out of his apartment. In a confused state I asked why, and he said I kept giving him different answers to the same question. I don't recall this at all. It makes me chuckle, though.

The next day, I decided to go back to the pub and say sorry to the barman and give him my number. I exited the station, and there he was; right in front of me drinking a coffee opposite the road. He tried to ignore me, but I just went over and said, "I was just on my way to the pub to speak to you"

He looked at me.

I froze.

I handed him the note and left.

He never got in touch.

The moral of the story is when you well and truly fuck up at a bar through drunken antics, never ever ever go there ever again.