The evening started as an innocent one. Myself, Jeff and Bob in the pub, discussing ways in which we could improve the world. As you do.
And then someone suggested that we go out clubbing, there and then, and it has already been established that I am easily swayed (well, I don’t think that’s strictly true, but my motto is “don’t say no unless you can think of a good reason why”) so we found ourselves in a nightclub at 10:45 or thereabouts.
Nightclub was dead, vacant save for about half a dozen people, so we grabbed a table and got comfortable. We supped our drinks, chattered about this and that, and went to the toilet every now and then. On one such visit, I bumped into a chap from a nearby town who had brought his compadre over in search of the craic, only to find our humble little town wanting. I explained to him that he had made a big mistake, and should have stayed in his nearby town, for our humble little town has little to offer the thrillseeking clubgoer.
As the night progressed, the nightclub filled up, and I made an experimental excursion onto the dancefloor. I am certain that the entire world was laughing at me, but hey, no change there.
I returned to my seat and nursed my pint. My bladder was full again by now, so I hit the bogs. Once again, I bumped into the chap from the nearby town, and he was increasingly irate because the evening was just not improving, and I reminded him that really, this was a bad idea, and we all agreed.
Back in the main room, with the music playing at an inappropriately loud volume, as it does when you are old, like me, I sat down in a leather chair and nursed my pint once again. Jeff was at the DJ booth, requesting some Bon Jovi. Bob was out on the dancefloor, acting like the 40-year old that he is. And a slightly rotund blonde girl was strutting towards me.
She lowered herself onto my lap and rubbed herself against me clumsily. I, being British, tried to pretend that nothing had happened, and she soon left. Bob and Jeff returned, having seen what had happened, and started probing me for an explanation.
“What the fuck, Pete?”
“Uh, no idea. I kinda assumed that you guys had set that up.”
Had you been there, witnessing their body language, as I did, you would realise that they had not. This was just one of those out-of-the-blue clumsy lap dances that just… happen. Sometimes.
Bob and Jeff disappeared again, to the bar, this time, I think, and rotund blonde girl reappeared and gave me a second showing of her performance.
“Who are you with?” she asked.
“Those two wankers over there, ” I replied.
“No,nononono, ” she said “who are you WITH? Y’know, do you have a girlfriend?”
Chubby blonde lass was leaning in quite close to me by now, ready to slurp up my tonsils.
“Sorry, but yeah. And she’s fanta…”
Whoosh. My lap was empty. I breathed a sigh of relief, picked up my cagoule, and set out to find Bob and Jeff. Jeff was at the bar, engaged in conversation with some utterly drunken chick half his age. Bob was hovering nearby, clearly envious of Jeff’s situation. “Fuck this, ” I thought, shook their hands, and left the building. The night was going rapidly downhill, and I did not want to be a part of it.
On a few occasions in my life, and I can count the number of such occasions on one hand, I have reached the end of a film and wanted to immediately watch it again from the beginning. Notable examples are *Memento* and *Donnie Darko*. Films that are designed to pay off on the second viewing, assuming that you weren’t sleeping through it the first time round. *Mulholland Drive*, you may have gathered, is such a film. One day, I anticipate that this movie will be one of my all-time favourites.
