Tuesday, 4 October 2011

The Only Way is Chelsea

I have recently realised that nights out with Tactful Friend always lead to encounters with London's Gits. This weekend was no exception. 

That'll be £64.50, thanks
On Saturday, we attempted an elegant and - yes - cripplingly expensive round of cocktails at a cosy Chelsea hangout. Two drinks in, the bar was so busy we were being made forcibly friendly with the lads beside us. And we couldn't afford enough cocktails for that.

Soon Git 1 lunged past, nearly smashing both Tactful Friend's face and drink. In moments our group turned chav, abusing the wretch with all manner of gestures. The X Factor's most illustrious judges would have been proud. 

Next, Git 2 arrived. Not a man I recognised, but two members of our party turned steely. Both recounted Git 2's actively aggressive (and repeated) attempts at charming them, instances I then realised I had witnessed. They went as follows:

Unlucky Friend (dancing uncomfortably and at some distance from Git 2) tries to edge away from his pursuit.
Git 2: 'Lighten up why don't you? Can't you just chill out and have a good time?!'
UF's lack of enthusiasm becomes so pronounced it's almost a condition.
'Come on!' Git 2 grabs wrists of UF, in manner of domestic violence infomercial, and enforces complex gyration.
UF bobs, casting increasingly repulsed looks to the rest of the group. At last, recalling the old failsafe, UF moves in to structure a line or two of conversation.
[Git 2 delighted.]
Pleasantries commence. Then, the bombshell:
UF: 'So I was saying to my boyfriend the other day…'
Git 2, scandalised, drops wrists with embarrassing haste - 'Boyfriend?! Thanks for wasting my fucking time' - and flees.

And so it's with horror we realise he's here again, approaching the bar and UF and clutching an unsteady drink.
'I wanted to apologise,' he slurs.
(UF hostile)
'This [proffers drink] is for you.'
(UF thawing) 'Aw. Thanks Git 2. It's OK - don't worry about it.'

Brent: A regular
Gits 3 and 4 approach at this point to replenish Git Quota:
'Need drinks, girls? Course you do. I'm getting them. (Loudly) Anyway so I said to him "Mate let me remind you - you're not the only son of an oligarch in this fucking place."'
Git 3 dissolves into laughter looking around at us all to check we're giving the riposte the wild enthusiasm it deserves.
We manage weak smiles, which seem to buy us the drink. Git 4 talks at me for a bit while Git 3 engages TF. Within moments we both develop a crippling need for the loo. 

As we depart, Git 2 warbles up, spies Unlucky Friend and smoothes back his hair:
'Well hey, you look like you need to chill out and have some fun tonight.'
'I have a boyfriend.'
'Right. Yeah. Oh fuck off then. [Sudden recognition] And you owe me a drink.'

1 comment:

  1. you do go to some quite grotesque sounding places mason. what's wrong with the sports bar? mysteriously, L.