(UNDER CONSTRUCTION)                  
                   What goes through a guy's head? No idea.
         From a "logic-orderly cynical femacho" perspective?
          
    He/She is probably banging her/him from behind in the dark corner of the bar
(maybe a toilet, for a more romantic setting) as soon as the first drink passed her/his throat --
some-one is banging and some-one is getting banged -- never mind the gender (does that sound credible?), which is not a bad scenario at all -- you do not look at his/her face and don't have to see him/her again if the service was not up to standard..

    Date 1/1 - SHE SAYS..

Vee says,'Here's what a real sweet feminine character has got to offer on the subject..'


Before I start I'd like to mention the big spot I woke up with on my nose that morning.
Yeah! On a Friday morning, jus coz I had a date that night.
Yes, another one.
With a professional bullshitter, some sort of IT teacher, my arse..from Ca-na-ry Wharf
..dreadlocks, tattoos, gold jewellery, monotonous voice, talking crap, wafflin'on'bout roast beef sandwiches and stuff..
My fault, wanted a date with an educated, sophisticated one, working in IT.

Can honestly say I did not remember a single thing he said, and definitely not because he swept me off my feet with his personal charm, until after a double espresso cured the hang-over in the morning.
 
                        *    *    *

It was like in a haze from the moment I got off DLR at Cutty Sark..that hopeful feeling -- is he the one?

Up the stairs..
(Oh God - flashback of a conversation with someone else on New Years Day on the very same stairs)

Drifting off..

Wearing my net stockings, power dressed, I'm standing on the escalator with one foot a step higher than the other.
I catch him staring at an exposed thigh.

'You always look so appealing'
He is not embarrassed at all.
I am.

'I was not teasing you', I put it away, cover up with the big black coat.

It was a 2nd or 3rd date, not a time or place for this sort of thing yet.
Good though..so good, promissing..doing good..
Oh, for fuck's sake, stupid cow, snap out of it!

'It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life..'

A pleasant cold breeze brings the cow back to reality.
Another set of stairs.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, seven kids coming down the escalator, different ages, all resemble each other.
Counting the noisy lot with horror, (and running up the steps, no point being late) I'm looking at an attractive Latino woman with a motherly expression on her face following her little flock.

'Not bad, sis, seven ov'em and your bits still pointing North..'

Out into the real world, overground, bustling Greenwich life on a Friday night.
Girls, girls, girls in mini skirts.

Some sad young geyser sat down on the pavement opposite the station hopelessly popping his eyeballs out in vain, waiting for some bitch never to come, for his bad karma, must have been a wife beater in his past life. Poor bastard..

I'm heading towards the Gate Clock. Right, put the black jacket back on, pull the jeans up, cover belly button, no flesh nudity what-so-ever, look serious, don't give an im-pres-sion!
Mirror out - lipstick fine - no trace on the teeth.
Where is he?
Fucking blind date.
Oh, there's the dude, standing there against the fence with a mate, saying something.

'Hi flwish', sumtin muffled like that.Is he stoned?
I look over and around..

'Flwish!?'
( or was it "swlish ")

'Eez'ee tarkin toe may!?'
..or has he just christened the blob on me nose...?

Apparently yes, he was talking to me.
(All right, maybe he's got a speech impediment, don't make fun, don't laugh , DON'T!)

'What's your name, luv?'

'Rich'

So he introduces me to Gary, his bloody chaperon on the night.
Why would a big 40 yr old man need a bleepin' nanny on a date, beats me.

'I wasn't sure you'd turn up'

Ok. I did. I am not sure if I shouldn't have stayed at home.

'Sfine, really..', I break ice, 'I got stood up by some youngster the other week, whas-a-big-deal...'

All right, let's take the bull by the horns and get some drinks in us.
Maybe we can get some sort of conversation going.
We're off to Gypsy Moth, as the Gate Clock is heaving with punters.

'You're not from London?', usual night-club line pops up.

I get him to guess my nationality, he's fishing for Mediterranean first.
I laugh.
All the fucking goldilocks image and he gives me the Me-di-ter-ranean bollocks!
He gets it right on a second guess.
I applaud.
They would not serve chips there, bollocks, I'm hungry, so we loose Rich's mate,
'I'll be floating around', he says
and go off to Cutty Sark Kebab and Fish..

I'm drifting off.

Remember the night before, when the sky opened and it poured while we sat there, the very same place, with Lills and Mo pondering some other nice things that happened round this place before to all of us at some point or other..
Good times.
Flashbacks.
Walking down the memory lane..
Some strange picture of a guy (just an outline- you can't see the face) standing in the rain by the Cutty Sark under a massive umbrella enters my subconscious vision.
Why? It is not raining now.
" Sun in the sky, you know how I feel.."

Click. Snap out of it.

The Turkish joint is full, the waitress takes us upstairs.
They're decorating there, it is noisy, hammers and nails, I'm getting irritated waiting for my glass of 'vin blanc', we're the only two people sitting there leisurely and the handy man working away there , doing DIY on a Friday night, I feel sort of guilty.

The food and drink arrives , we go downstairs hoping for a free table there, found one, we make small talk over fish and chips.
I've ravished through my plate.

'I like a woman with a good appetite', he says

'.. yeah, that's coz I don't shoot up my nose', woman thinking to herself.

He drinks his beer slowly, I am almost through my glass of wine.
We get two more of each and talk some serious crap.

He's got three kids, a 12 yr old in Australia, 15 yr old living with him, and a big boy , 20, living by himself in Deptford, by three different mothers.
I suppose he's done his bit for the survival (destruction?) of the species.

He talk-talks and talks, I get a few questions in.
I made my mind up.
He is a wanker, he is stoned and I am going to try and make my excuses and bugger off as soon as pos.
We pay up and get up to go for a walk.

'I've got an 11pm curfew with my babysitter', I try this one, it ALWAYS works.

So we get a couple more beers and a caramel magnum from an offy across the street.
If I left him there and then he'd probably wouldn't even notice, he was "sow" outa'is'ead.
We stroll down towards the river.
Richard's phone rings, he presses a random button then says 'Hello' a few times into the bloody thing with a studied puzzled expression on his face.
An act-or.
OH KAY!
I've been there before!
Know this one.
"Missus" on the other side, of course..

'Are you married?', I chance it, what the hell.

'I never married, told you', waffle waffle waffle

No wonder, who'd marry this mess, a wallop of hemp, even in a suit, a wedding suit, please, it ain't funny, is that a green leaf sticking out of his ear?
My mind offers me a Mendelssohn March, Ave Maria and Richie walking down the aisle with the lady of his dreams, braid's maids carrying his dreadlocks, rose petals, the full works, the leaves of you know what swirling all over the place, fucking romantic, smoke everywhere.

'if you goin to San Francisco..
be sure to wear flowers in your hair', why the hell am I humming this 1967 shit tune!?

Who the fuck's wearing flowers round here? Losing it. Idiot. Pissed idiot.

He's visibly pissed, slurring and all, hazy eyes, bloodshot, trying to look me in the eyes but it ain't working, lover boy..

'I grow herbs in the pots on my balcony', well hello, he offers some more info, as I did not know what "kinda'erbs" he's talking about.

'Mint, basil, rosemary, I love to cook', how many times have you tried this line before, Richie-boy?

I ask him about his kids and what's the arrangement between father and son as far as bringing girlfriends home's concerned.
He doesn't understand, I'm gonna be blunt then.

'How do you go about satisfying your basic needs if you have a kid at home?'

'Oh, that.', he smiles 'Go to a hotel or something.'

Not that I'd ever wanna get practical here.

His phone rings again:
"What shall we do with a drunken sailor
What shall we do with a drunken sailor
What shall we do with a drunken sailor
early in the morning", an ominous ringtone, especially that we're standing by the river bank overlooking the boats and ferries, just a push away from the dirty water of the Father Thames.
'What shall we do with a drunken sailor, push him overboard', I got this itch in the palm of my hand, and doing the drunken sailer step towards the delinquent I was just going to..
Nah, I'll be a good girl.
He may go for a swim another time.

It is time to make my way, he'll walk me back to DLR.
Richard lives in Deptford, just 3 stops away from Cutty Sark, so we get on a train together.
He's using his bro's travel card coz they look alike.

A pleasant looking black guy standing by the door is staring at us with disbelief.
All right, I get the picture.
We must be an odd couple.
Not that it bothers me.
We don't have chemistry though. Nope.
I look at Rich and tell him, he is out of his head smashed.
He admits to having a few drinks and smoking a few joints prior to meeting me.

'Does that put you off me?'

His eyes were dead, he was stoned and drunk.
I say nothing - there is nothing to say.

'My parents call me Dick'

'No wonder!', I wanna S-C-R-E-A-M!!!

TO BE CONTINUED...but you gotta be pissed reading this crap, I know I was, writing this shite..it is like mental ablution, standing here starkers getting the dirt off me..

V. M. 23.07.2004