Meat Market

I went out for a couple of drinkywoodles to a rather amusing establishment last night.

Actually, the word “amusing” gives completely the wrong impression. I shall try again.

Last night was a Tuesday. In the process of meeting up with a couple of friends for some post-laptop-auditing drinkywoodles, it was necessary to join them in the bar that they were already in.

It was a meat market, and the only thing on offer was a doner kebab.

Tuesday night seems to bring out some real mingers. Young ladies who really shouldn’t be allowing their bellies to hang over their waistbands like a fat toad. Now, I don’t expect every girl to be a supermodel, but I swear that at one point I felt this cold feeling in my spine, like the fucking devil himself had just taken possession of my body, stuck his finger up my nose, and sung a Gareth Gates song at me.

However there was one young brunette lady who was just divine. Slender and elegant, wearing black trousers and a denim jacket, she danced like a true shining vision. You could say that she had been touched with the pretty stick, to ruthlessly extend an already-overworn saying.

She was like a shining beacon on the bow of a rowing boat, stranded in the middle of a foggy lake. Like a pint of Guinness in the middle of the desert. I was transfixed.

Then I decided that she was too good for me and went home.

Everyone knows that girls are weird anyway.

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