I’m not going to name names and say what the ropey bars were called. Suffice to say, I lost my Jagerbomb virginity in that first club *looks wistful.*
I love people watching, especially if I’m in a new place – people just seem to be so much weirder. This first club (we’ll call it … Club Skank,) was a smorgasbord of roughness. From the poor man’s Alexandra Burke to the Lee Ryan look alike DJ to the guys who wore sunglasses and jeans round their butts … I was in voyeur heaven.
As I sat on the plastic sofa and watched the shenanigans of the ladies of the night coming in to warm up, my friend lined up another Jagerbomb (we are SO classy.) A man approached. He sat down on the sofa next to me (ie. nearly on top of me,) and gave me his best line. At least I think he was trying to chat me up.
“Scuse love. Can I sit here?”
Being newly single and not really sure if I was being chatted up or whether he was just a bit tired, I replied, in hindsight, rather aggressively, “It’s not my club! You can sit where you like!”
Not quite Romeo and Juliet.
We sat in silence until my friend came back wherein he quickly got up and moved on to the next victim.
As Jo sat next to me and we both looked around the club, we were convinced there was a knocking shop upstairs. Each lady, (and I use the term very loosely – loose being the operative word,) seemed to disappear upstairs with a different man for a short period of time, (very short in one poor man’s case,) come downstairs and take another one back up.
Not one to judge but blimey, it wasn’t like that in my day!
Jo nudged me and said, “Kate, I’m a bit scared.”
She had a point. It really was pimp o’clock so we discretely edged our way to the front door and made a run for it. Was the next bar any better?