Sunday, May 14, 2006

Xmas Do 2004. In which Spinsterella completely fails to pull a fat, sweaty, shortarse Geordie

My Indie Rock Friend works for a big evil corporation. Every Christmas they treat their minions to a slap-up meal with booze and ‘entertainment’ to which ‘partners’ are also invited. Before he met his current very lovely girlfriend, he used to take me. (I’ve been to four now, three of them in the same frock. Because who needs more than one going-out outfit?)


We had just arrived and were knocking back some of the welcoming bucks fizz when a geordie chap came over to talk to my friend. I took an instant liking to him - he had that Northern-boy hair-do and that Northern-boy cheeky charm. Plus he laughed at my jokes and had nice teeth.

The meal came and went, washed down with plenty of free vino, and the entertainment included a tarot card woman who told me I was going to be a spinster forever, then it was time for the disco.

Being enthusiastic dancers, me’n’friend were straight up there, making solemn what-goes-on-tour-stays-on-tour pledges to one another (no-one need ever know we were boogieing to S-Club 7). We were well-pissed, but Geordie chap was absolutely fucked. He was sweating profusely, crumpled shirt hanging off, trying to dance inappropriately with a female colleague who really wasn’t interested, and falling over a lot.

This made me like him even more.

Now, I’m not quite sure what happened next, it’s all very hazy. I was sitting at the dinner table, alone, when he came over. For some reason he took me to the other side of the room, where, in his cheeky-chappie-northern way, he tried to get me to snog him. Now, despite the fact that this was exactly what I’d been wanting to do all night, I wouldn’t.

I think he went off in a strop, then came back, and I have a very vague recollection of our lips just-about touching for a fraction of a second, then IRF came and grabbed me because the bus back to London was leaving RIGHT NOW.

So that was that.


  • he had herpes.
    you didn't know that?
    he did. terrible face eating herpes.

    by the way, I've been drinking. Yay!

    By Blogger First Nations, at 3:20 AM  

  • Drinking?

    At 3am on a sunday night?


    Anyhow, I don't think he had herpes, but he did have a girlfriend.

    If things had have gone according to my plan I would have awoken the next morning with a screaming hangover in a hotel-room in Bracknell next to a fat sweaty geordie.

    There would have been a lot of regret and remorse.

    Just as well he bloew me out, really.

    By Blogger Spinsterella, at 11:15 AM  

  • it's the repeated use of the word sweaty that makes me think you had a very lucky escape

    By Blogger GreatSheElephant, at 12:43 PM  

  • i like sweat. men should be sweaty. i'm suspicious of men who smell good.

    By Blogger Chaucer's Bitch, at 3:13 PM  

  • ...sweetheart, i'm in america. it was only 7pm or something here.


    men should smell like gasoline, sweat (just a nice glow, not a bag of suet), cigars and patchouli.

    By Blogger First Nations, at 7:27 PM  

  • This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

    By Blogger The Blind Flaneur, at 10:56 PM  

  • Unbelievably, its not the fat sweaty geordie that makes the almost-but-not-quite-tryst bad. Its the fact that the hotel room was in Bracknell. What a place to face a morning after. Enough to make anyone filled with regret and remorse.

    By Blogger Aimee, at 12:39 AM  

  • Heh. Sounds bad. I've been drinking to. *happy haze* I'm too drunk to think of something interesting. Or type. I'll come back later...

    By Blogger No Shit Sherlock, at 9:37 AM  

  • Hmmm, I'm not averse to a bit of clean sweat meself, but I draw the line at patchouli.

    By Blogger Spinsterella, at 9:59 AM  

  • Spinny,

    Fuck all this for a laugh - get over to myspace.com. I've had offers from blokes who run production companies and all sorts - never mind yer Geordie beer monster tat (although they're ten a penny of course if you just want a bit of rough after a vindaloo/brown ale/Shearer's greatest goals DVD bingefest) . Just doctor your photo so you look like an ex-Bond girl and you'll be swatting them away like flies. I've turned away all sorts (well, who wants my shrivelled cock anywhere near 'em?), so YOU should clean up...

    Let me know how you get on...

    Love on ya,


    p.s: wqpiqcj? You've got that Scott Walker to do your wrod vrefictaion, haven't you?

    By Blogger Robert A. Swipe, at 4:09 PM  

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