Closing Out

A steady trickle of people flowed in as the night progressed and by 9.30 the place was starting to get a nice little vibe on the go. The Hooches were going down a treat and the conversation had swung around to women and football, as it is want to do when four Australian males gather in a gaggle.

One of The Kid's mates, Cotts, I already knew from a football club we both played for in Australia - the Colbinabbin Grasshoppers (now tell me that name alone, isn't enough to strike fear into the hearts of any opposition player.)

Cotts was a big bastard with an abundance of body hair and penchant for beer and loose women. He'd been here for six months and had had quite a bit of both by all accounts.

Timmy Loves Hawes, was an Australian from Canberra, although I doubt that's his real name.

Dessy was South African.

I like cheese. Anyway, when push came to shove I was out with some pretty smooth operators, or so they'd have me think. The Kid always put in the hard yards and women inexplicably fell for his sense of humor, tallness and bright blue eyes, despite his questionable dress sense.

It's hard to get back into the single scene after decent stint in a relationship. In the short time I'd been in London, I'd idly chatted to a few girls but to the regret of this party at least, that's as far as it had gone. But it's a hard, hard world and to succeed, words simply don't cut the mustard.

What the hell does that mean? - 'cut the mustard' - it's fuckin stupid.

Anyway, The Kid had labeled me. In his own words, I 'couldn't close out'. It's not as if I didn't want to close out, I definitely, wanted to close out. I would have loved to have closed out. I would explode if I didn't soon close out.

I'd collected a number from - what I remember to be - a nice looking girl at a dodgy little club earlier in the week, but the whole idea of stumbling through a phone conversation like some sixteen year old spank merchant felt far too cliched. No, I'd have to Hooch myself to the point of no return and go for it. Either that or subscribe to the trucks, bikes and chicks channel.

Good things come to those who wait may have been a catchy advertising jingle for Guinness but that line of thought certainly didn't help register too many notches on the bed-head.

I was single again for the first time in many, many months, the smell of decadence was in the air, and my confidence was running high as a result of getting into Covent Garden all by myself. Yes my friends, this could be the night.