There I am, sweating my backside off in a garbage pub that resembles something from Eastenders, that Queen Vic place where Dirty Den lays buried beneath. I'm nervous, tonight is the big night - tonight I'm going to get her number and ask her if she wants to go out some time. I'm feeling good and unusually I'm sober, usually I watch an England game smashed off my noggin on some cheap rubbish like Fosters or Bombadier.
So I ask her for number and I say "lets go out sometime", she seems really exicted, throws her arms around me like one of Tiger Wood's mistresses, you know that fit one with clamidia? I'm feeling uber excited now, if I could measure my excitement in inches, it would easily be a footlong.
So I ring her up Sunday afternoon, no answer, fair enough, she is properly hungover from a night on the lash? I'll phone a little later. So I phone in the evening, around the time Come Dine With Me finishes on More4, still no answer. Well, this is a little strange, come today and I phone her about 5pm, no answer, I ring her about 8pm. Only now does it occur to me, just maybe, I've been played for a right clown. I also probably came across as a total weirdo, a freak and someone with jibbletts for a ballacks.
Why would a woman swap numbers and agree to go out sometime and then bloody not answer her c*nting phone? Women are a total mystery to me and if I had enough money, I would buy a f*cking Aston Martin and I wouldn't have to put up with this nonsense - women, love em, but they don't half take the p*ss out of me. She pulled my pants down and shagged me in the bottom with a brillo pad and next time I see her, I'm gonna be the bigger person and ignore her.