The Moon Faced Girl

The bottles of ‘Corona’ flow freely, two bottles for the bargain price of £3.50 before 10.30 on any evening. We come back from the bar with four at a time; we’re men on a mission. We have our beer shelf in front of us and a table closely behind us, so close that little space is left for people to walk between. A brunette taps Tim on the shoulder and asks him to shuffle up, he politely complies while I take his lead and do the same. As she walks behind me I feel two hands hold my hips and linger, slightly longer than they really should. As I pat my trouser pockets to ensure my wallet still remains I look to my right and this woman with a round face looks back and smiles. I try to smile back without appearing to flirt or look too worried. She disappears into the crowd below us. Tim taps me on the shoulder “She likes you mate” he tells me in earnest; “Nah, she just wanted to get past, and that’s all” I counter.

Twenty minutes later and I feel another tap on my shoulder and there is the woman again with the round face, a big round white moon of a face, this time I get a better look. She’s about thirty five, not small but built stocky enough to intimidate me, not ugly but nothing that would stir any chemistry in me. “Excuse me” she asks, I automatically shuffle forward again to let her pass and wait. A moment passes but she doesn't move, I try not to look at her. She taps me on the shoulder again, “No, I don’t want to get past this time” she laughs. “Can I ask you something?” she whispers looking more serious. “Fire away” I tell her with a drunken confidence, I’m expecting her to ask me to buy her a drink or something. “Would you mind if I did this…” and then she stops talking and moves her round face into mine and kisses me. Shock roots me to the spot and all I can too is kiss her back and hope it ends quickly. Years seem to pass and there is no give up, then thankfully she pulls away. She smiles at me and waits for a response. Slowly I say the only words that enter my head at this moment, actually two letters “O.. K..”. She smiles again and walks away back into the crowd. Next to me I can see Tim’s shoulders rising and falling with laughter, “I told you mate!” he laughs and slaps me on the back.

Another twenty minutes pass, along with some more beer. The moon faced girl suddenly appears to my left like a magician’s assistant, simply popping in out of no where. I glance over at her and she smiles in my direction. “Tim I think now is the time to go and mingle with the masses below” I tell my drinking partner. “Wayne just do it mate, go with it and take a hit for the team” he urges me. I look back at her one last time “No” I say defiantly already moving further down. “I would!” Tim tells me, “That doesn’t inspire me any” I answer back. So we head into the crowd and the increased music volume.

The drinking never ceases, Tim doesn't do the dancing thing so I dance behind a pretty blonde in a white dress. Tim shakes his head but soon she leans her back against mine and dances up and down me. And so I dance with the pretty blonde and the night begins to look up. A girl in the blonde's group smiles at Tim and Tim takes note. Near me is a giggly brunette, but she looks different, I can’t explain too well why but she just looks a little out of place. She is very attractive, lots of gentlemen are paying her lots of attention but she doesn’t seem to be taken in. Normally in Bar Med a good looking lad hooks up with a good looking lass, those are the rules, regardless of intelligence, linguistic skills or any other attributes (good or bad), just the physical. But this girl is chatting to good looking lads, really ‘listening’ and then brushing them off. I turn to Tim and point to her, “I bet two things about that lady, one, she isn’t local and two, she has a good education, degree level”, he takes a good long look at her, taking in her measure, “No” he disagrees, “Local girl” he remarks. “Right!” I tell him, “I’m off to find out” and off I wonder in her direction. “Excuse me” I shout to her, she looks at me and I wonder if she feels the way I did when the moon faced girl stopped me, I have become the moon faced man! She really is very beautiful and I almost falter, “You know how everyone people watches, well me and a friend saw you from across the way and you sparked a conversation, of sorts, well I think that you’re not a local and I have a strong suspicion that you’re degree educated, while my mate disagrees.” She looks at me and giggles, “I’m from Horsham and I’m as thick as shit” she tells me, “Sorry” she laughs, “Bugger” I reply. She looks at me expectantly and I realise that I should probably say something else, the brush off would quickly follow, but in my drunken state I’m annoyed that my powers of observation have abandoned me, so I shake my head at her and walk back to Tim. “You were right on both counts” I tell him.

The music ends and the lights come up, Tim is smiling at the girl who smiled at him earlier and she returns it with interest and steps back into the group of moving people, disappearing forever. We leave wishing it wasn’t ending so soon. I’ve drunk more tonight than I have in previous weeks and without my final two pints of water from the bar, I know I’m going to be ill and I was.

A hangover for the morning and another night of adventures all thanks to ‘Bar Med’.

The Sophisticated Shannon

We stand in the same spot where we stood last week (and I’ve stood for the last three). To the right of the entrance in front of the table, overlooking the dance floor, just on the corner. This view point has a number of advantages, mainly that you can spot and assess the women as they walk down the stairs, you can view most of the dance floor from up here and you get to watch and chuckle at the high number of people that slip on the stairs. I agree that anyone falling down stairs is really no laughing matter, but imagine the victim wearing stilettos a short skirt and then imagine this having drunk six bottles of beer, it’s hilarious! We adopt the four bottles of beer at a time regime, developed for maximum impact and success, happily in no time it has the desired results.

I see the usual faces and can even put a couple of names to a few following last weeks antics. This week things seem different, Tim is more driven, he has the eye of the ‘Tiger’ and is determined to chalk up some sort of score. We mingle on the dance floor, chat to a few women in turn and regroup. “Last week Wayne we were getting knock backs from the massive women, big monsters, women I wouldn’t usually look twice at, that can’t happen again this week.” Last week I didn’t make much of an effort to chat up any woman for myself, I have a real problem with getting drunk and throwing my standards out of the window, I can’t do it. Alcohol should work its magic on the ladies to a point where they look upon you like an Adonis, I can’t reverse this formula. No matter how much I drink I can’t pull a fat ugly lass, sure maybe the beer will erode my tastes a little, but not pack their bags and catch the next train to ‘No Mans Land’. By this point Tim’s standards are lost somewhere with the ‘Mars Beagle 2’ and show no evidence of returning, at least any time soon.

For some reason, which must have a link to Tim’s aversion to dance floors, he can’t hear a word I’m saying. Oddly he takes his mobile phone out and starts typing a text message, finished and holds the phone in front of my nose “I CANT HEAR YOU” the message reads, I mouth the words “OK” and stand to the side with my bottle in hand. The night progresses and Tim eyes up two girls. One is round, very round, yet small and with her hair in tight braids, she is wearing ‘painted on’ (or so they seem) black ski pants, stiletto heals and a loose blouse. Her friend is even smaller, also portly, looks older and oriental. Tim approaches the ‘rounder’ of the two and whisks her off the dance floor and up to the upper level of the club. This leaves me standing with the small portly girl and stand I do. A few minutes pass and I look down, she looks up and smiles, I smile back and nod my head. More minutes pass and I have this nasty feeling that something has passed by default, my mate has gone with her mate and like the last remaining hands in a game of ‘snap’ we are matched, there is my destiny for the evening, I shudder. Circumstances have paired us up. More minutes pass and I visibly look at my watch and back down at her, I feel like we’re waiting for a bus, but she looks up and smiles. Alas I can’t take it anymore “Excuse me!” I yell at her, she looks up with an absolute beam of a smile, “yes!” she shouts with way too much enthusiasm, “Your mate is over there” and I point to Tim and the odd shaped girl. Her expression goes from ecstatic smile to thunder in an instant, she reaches down for her bag with a face that looks like it hopes to find a samurai sword. She then marches over to her mate (still with Tim), shouts and marches out of the club. A flood of guilt and relief wash over me at the same time.

I walk over to Tim and the girl; she is typing something into Tim’s phone and handing it back to him. “Is your mate deaf or something?” she asks me, she pronounces ‘something’ as ‘sumfink’, a local girl I think (or should I say fink). Neglecting the fact that few deaf people would have need of a telephone (yes, I know they can text) I shout back “No a little hard of hearing”. Tim spends an age tapping at his phone and holds it aloft in front of us both “WHAT?” it reads. I shake my head and take a couple of steps back leaving them to it. She reminds me of a ‘Weeble’, those plastic egg shaped toy people from my childhood, ‘Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down’ was the advertising slogan. I have no doubt she would fall down with some ease, yet she teeters on a pair of stilettos, I can’t imagine what the pressure must be at their points but it reminds me of a mini car I once saw with its weight being distributed by just fragile wine glasses on it’s wheels. “If my boyfriend could see us now he would kill me” she tells us, pauses for some thought, looks at Tim and says “and you”. “Where is he” I ask looking around quickly, “Oh in Damascus” she laughs, “But he’s married anyways” she says more for Tim’s benefit than mine. I chat to her briefly, “You have the look of a married man who is really gay, you’re married because you don’t want anyone to think you’re gay” she states to me, “No, I’m single and straight” I tell her in all honesty, “What the hell makes you say that?” I quiz her, “Well you have beads round your neck and round your wrist” she tells me with a completely serious face, “SO!” I shout at her “they aren’t gay”, “whatever” she replies. “Your mate, he has such lovely eyes” she tells me as we leave; I look down at her and shrug my shoulders. Outside Tim tries to persuade her that we are some kind of ‘party animals’ and the fun is going to continue at my place. I think of my neighbours, the lack of any alcoholic drinks in the flat and wonder exactly what he has in mind. We set off to grab something to eat, but then Tim and Sharon (I had by this point learnt her name) have a change of heart and we all grab a cab to my home.

Once at home Sharon has a nose around the flat (not putting me at any ease), she walks into my kitchen and checks out the drinks cabinet, which is sadly bare except for the redundant drinking glasses. Then the strangest thing happens, with a cracking noise she drops and sinks an inch, on one foot and quickly jumps to the other. Upon investigation I see that one of the floor tiles has cracked under the total weight on one stiletto, not only that but it’s managed to pierce a one inch hole in the floor board beneath. “Your flat is suffering from a structural defect or sunfink” she tells us both straight faced. “No it isn’t” Tim tells her, “Please follow me” he finishes taking her hand and gently guiding her back into the living room, thankfully. In the living room we discuss the politics of local issues, although she lives with just her mum in a council flat, all council properties are full of scum she claims. I explain that as people buy them and sell them, new properties are going up and old increasing in price the unsavoury element will eventually be priced out of Crawley, she disagrees and fails to comprehend my point at all. Apparently ‘Crawley girls’ hate ‘East Grinstead’ girls (and vice versa), always good to see a little local rivalry. Tim is intent on picking out music tracks to play on the stereo, ‘Communards’, ‘Erasure’ and ‘The Pet Shop Boys’ head his line up, eventually I play some ‘Air’ and some ‘Soft Parade’ at Sharon’s request, a selection that impresses me more than Tim’s did. Sharon had spotted the guitars on the tour and asks me firstly if I can play, “A little” I tell her and secondly if I’d play something, so I do. At one point I pass Tim in the hallway heading to the toilet, “Are you taking her to bed or me?” he asks, “she’s all yours” I tell him. Tim wants to make his own type of music and quickly I put the guitar down ready to leave them to it again. “Nothing is going to happen” she tells us both, “I’m in the red!” she says as way of an explanation. “You can take me the other way, but you’ll have to wear a condom” she ends, with not a trace of embarrassment. Suddenly I’m very sober and running the words through my head again to see if I’ve misunderstood her meaning, but no I understood perfectly, I shudder with horror for the second time that night. Tim kisses her and together they head off to the spare room.

I’m up early the next morning, partly to see if she’s still here and then to see if my laptop and TV are, they are. I also use the time to lay a new floor tile in the kitchen. Tim soon bounds happily into the kitchen, he’s glowing, “huge tits” he muses, “huge everything” I mutter. “Well done” I congratulate him with some gusto. She soon leaves. After she’s gone Tim asks me “What was her name?”, I shake my head “Sharon was her name” I answer. “Mmmmm, well if anyone asks her name was Shannon, it sounds a bit more sophisticated” he tells me, we laugh as the kettle boils for the coffee and tea.

Another night of antics provided by ‘Bar Med’ in Crawley.

The 24 Year Rule

Crawley is an extremely strange place. It is without doubt one of the biggest ‘chav’ towns of the UK. Oddly no one actually seems to live in Crawley because no one will admit to it, probably with very good reason. Ask a Crawley ‘townie’ where exactly they reside and watch as they squirm and attempt to skirt the issue like a politician in front of ‘Paxman’. “I’m from West Sussex” they’ll tell you, “Near Gatwick”, “Not too far from Horsham” or they’ll try to give just the suburb “Southgate” or “Furnace Hill” at which point you say (very loudly) “Oh, Crawley!” and then you can physically watch their heart sink through a number of defeated facial expressions. Some will retaliate with the “yer, but Tilgate isn’t really Crawley” line, where you should nod your head sagely with the knowing look that screams “You’re in denial!” Some months ago I moved to the other end of West Sussex, not too far from Horsham, near Gatwick, a small area called ‘Three Bridges’ and yes the third line of my address states ‘Crawley’. The near by ‘County Mall’ shopping centre and it’s one way system is clogged up with cars belonging to ‘Max Power’ readers, tinted windows, alloy wheels and sub woofers all show as evidence, even on the most banal of vehicles. A race with some clown in a baseball cap is offered at every red traffic light while bottle blondes walk around in skirts that should belong to smaller women or only seen on nudist beaches. Single mums push prams and pushchairs swinging fake ‘Louis Vuitton’ handbags and wishing for no more than a packet of twenty ‘ciggies’ and a packet of twenty nappies. From what I can gather there are two socio-economic classes; those from wealthy families (with unfortunate resource drained parents) that didn’t really bother at school and ‘went off the ropes’ and those from sink estates that didn’t bother at school and ‘went off the ropes’.

On an average weekend evening the gentlemen move around in packs, wearing a ‘Benny’ (Ben Sherman shirt) or a ‘Ralfy’ (Ralph Lauren shirt), ripped jeans and a pair of white trainers (unless the target venue only allows shoes). Big gold chains are worn outside of said shirts with accompanying big gold bracelets; baseball caps I believe are optional. The nightlife is distributed between ‘Brannigans’, ‘Bar Med’ and a nightclub called ‘Ikon Diva’. The only places I’m familiar with are ‘Bar Med’ after a few visits and Ikon Diva after a couple of very brief trips in and out. One Saturday night with my brother (down from Birmingham), on the first weekend I moved to Three Bridges we took a trip to ‘Bar Med’ and surprisingly we had a very pleasant evening. Bar Med was full of people made up of all ages and all sizes, there was a higher ratio of female to male patrons (always a good thing) and a good range of dress sense covering typical ‘chav’ to the ‘suited and booted’. Oddly I was chatted up twice that night, once by a woman close to forty with a rugby player’s body and then by a lady in her mid thirties wearing make up that cracked when she smiled, but hey it’s a confidence boost and the law of averages coupled with a smiling God surely dictates that sooner or later a stunner with a modicum of intellect may come my way. ‘Crawley women aren’t shy’, that was the selling tag line I fed my mate ‘Tim’ last week in an effort to persuade him to join me on Friday night back in there and it worked, so on Friday night the two of us headed off to Bar Med for some serious beer drinking and with hope in our hearts.

To be honest the night wasn’t too eventful, there was a tall girl who was pretty enough standing alone all night, just behind us, but the fact that she was alone seemed odd so we never approached her (we were expecting some gorilla to join her at any moment). Tim sadly doesn’t dance, I’ve known him for a number of years and enjoyed many nights out with him and friends but Tim has never tripped the light fandango or strutted his stuff. The easiest way to break the ice with women is a bit of cheesy flirtatious dancing, but dance alone and all they see is a lonely old man making a fool to of himself. “Lets go and hit the dance floor” I tell him, “Wayne I don’t do dancing” he protests “I can’t, I’m like one of the guards on duty at Buckingham Palace, I won’t be able to move” he insists. “Tim, Tim” I pleaded “it doesn’t matter how you look as long as you enjoy it, just dance from the heart, as if no one’s watching” I argued. So we began dancing, really I can’t dance for toffee but Tim shuffles randomly from one foot to another and twitches his arms every now and then to a beat no one else can hear, it’s painful to observe. “Tim that’s enough” I tell him “probably a good idea if you stop now, you were right and I’ll never ask you to do that again!” I concede. Tim agrees and we leave the dance floor.

At the bar a girl we’d previously agreed didn’t look too bad removes a cigarette packet from her handbag, realises it’s empty and throws it out, turning to her mate she shouts out for a spare ‘ciggy’ but her friend is all out as well. Tim is unaware of the girl’s dilemma and need for a smoke but I shout to him “offer her one of yours” while pointing to her, but the music is too loud and he can’t hear me. “That girl wants a cigarette” I shout again still pointing. He looks at her and shakes his head mouthing the word “What?” In his hand is a half full packet of cigarettes, grabbing his shirt cuff I direct the hand and packet towards the girl who takes one out and thanks him, Tim takes her to one side and begins chatting to her. Moments later he returns to me “That girl nicked one of my fags!” he tells me with some annoyance and walks away. As the clock ticks down towards ‘chucking out time’ we chat to more and more women, mostly I chat to women on Tim’s behalf with the old “My mate fancies you” winning gambit, but it’s not winning anything this evening. We are rejected by some real monsters. I see a girl sitting all alone (has been for sometime now) and I decide to approach her. I think her insular isolated want to be alone calls out to me and illustrates some depth of soul, “Hi ya” I say to her cheerfully, but all she does is look up at me and then back down. “You not having the best of evenings?” I ask her; again she looks up and down. “Is everything OK?” I continue not giving up and with some concern, she looks at me blankly. “Do you even speak English?” I question her before giving up, “yes I do” she tells me in a dismissive manner, “er, goodnight then” I tell her, but never get a reply so I walk away sheepishly. Bar Med comes to an end and we leave.

Outside I see the tall girl from Bar Med who stood behind us alone to begin with, she’s still by herself. “You were standing behind us some of the night” I tell her drunkenly, “Maybe” she answers. “Where can we get a kebab?” Tim asks and she directs us to a fast food outlet. “What’s your name?” I tentatively quiz her, “Loraine” she tells me sounding fairly upbeat. The three of us chat for a while and learn she’s a local lass, single and heading home. I push my luck and ask her age, “guess” she tells me, the answer all men should dread, so I look at what she’s wearing, facial features, hair and hands and make a drunken judgement “thirty two?” I ask her. Like a dangerous dog who, up until this point has only ever been good with children but is now trying to eat you, she ‘turns’. I’m colourfully told to go away and then she asks Tim to take a guess. “Twenty four” he tells her, “exactly!” she smiles and Tim is rewarded with a peck on the cheek. “I do wear glasses” I protest, she steps closer towards me and tells me bluntly “Tonight you’ll go home with your mate here and I’ll be going home and sleeping alone, goodnight Wayne” and with that she walks off, “Goodnight twenty four year old Loraine” I shout after her. “Wayne the secret is ALL women are twenty four” Tim tells me as we walk back, “Take that girl there” he points at a girl over the road “How old is she?”. I look at her squinting “er, twenty eight?” I tell him, “No!” he replies, “twenty four, remember?” he emphasises. Somewhere in the empty well of my head a penny drops, “Ahhhh” I murmur, “I’ll remember that in the future” and I will.