Sunday, December 28, 2003

Small Town Girl

My friend K came to stay yesterday. I haven't seen him since the summer, although we talk a lot on the phone. He always promised to come and see me in New York, but always cried off saying it was too expensive.

We went for a very nice meal in an Indian restaurant - although yet again I got a lot of attention from one of the waiters. What is it with me and Indian waiters? I am not complaining, but I just don't understand it.

Then we went looking for a particular pub, that his new boyfriend had told him to go to. The only gay pub in Northampton. Oh. My. God. I was born and raised in a small town, but I have been away from there for so long, that I had forgotten what a Saturday night out was like. When we got there, the place was empty downstairs, and upstairs where the seats were there weren't many people. But the most peculiar thing was that everyone was wearing the same clothes. And this season, the fashion seems to be tight stripey shirts, with your old school tie. And for girls, either the same (butch) or, short denim skirts (lipstick).

And everyone was so YOUNG! I think we were sat in someone elses seat - it is obvious that for everyone in there this night out was the highlight of the week. You just know they lived for their Saturday night out. We were sat at one end of a big table, and this bunch of teenagers were sat at the other. Whenever one of them wanted to leave his seat (which was often), rather than walking past us he used to walk across the table. I was getting annoyed with having to pick up my drink to stop him spilling it. K said at one point "If he does that one more time I am going to have to hit him". My friend K is not a violent person. Needless to say, this lad does it again, and as he is doing it I shout, "Go on, K, go on, let me hold him down". And of course, he spills K's drink. Funny, just the look K gave him was enough to elicit a huge apology, and he didn't do it again.

One of their female friends, from the moment she came in, just passed out on the table. In NYC, within seconds she would have been asked to leave. Here, the bouncers just kept walking past her. I put my foot down at the point she lost control of her arms and flailed them all over the table (while still passed out) and knocked all the drinks over. The lads did come back then and make her stand up, and basically shoved her out of the door. As me and K left (after making a fabulous entrance down the stairs - we were the best looking people that bar has seen in years, mate) we saw her on her knees outside the door, crying. Her friends were upstairs, leaning over the balcony calling encouraging noises. But not one of them came to see she was ok. Some friends!

K texted his boyfriend, saying the place was awful. The response was 'hehehehe'.

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