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Should you choose to accept it.

Thursday day was just another day of work and lunch and whatnot. Thursday evening, after some running around cooking and cleaning and so-on (much of which could probably have been done any other day), was more interesting.

It was a friend’s first day at his new job, only a couple of miles from here. He’s doing something Top Secret, which I suspect is removing the BLAIR™ covers from old PM-Bots and replacing them with shiny blue CAMERON™ covers so they can re-enter service. Maybe they also repair any that start speaking in something other than soundbites, or replace any worn-out arm and grin actuators. Or maybe, on those models, they just change the tie and claim it’s a CLEGGBOT™. Then it doesn’t matter what it says.

He has denied this, but then he would, wouldn’t he?

By happy coincidence, it was also our singer friend’s night at CCL. There were only two things for it: go and listen to the bands and get completely trollied, or go and listen to the bands and watch your newly re-employed friend get completely trollied.

He did have some excuse; when I arrived (unfashionably late, as always) he tried to introduce the people he was sitting with, including the singer’s mother. Unfortunately, the name he used was that of the singer’s father’s mistress. Close, but a faux pas*.

After that, alcohol was the only refuge.

It turns out that he knows some other people who regularly attend the open mic night, and so intends to introduce me to them; the idea being that, should I know other people there, I’d be less inclined to cower at home when he’s not around.

He also reckons (and in a bar wasn’t the most comfortable place for this discussion, as it’s the kind of embarassing personal thing I think should be kept private – he says posting about it on his blog – but the thought was appreciated) that, with a bit of practice, he can turn me into a normal and non-socially-retarded (my words, not his) human being. We shall see. What do you think, readers? Place your bets.

The night was generally pleasant, and the bands got better as the evening progressed. One guy – I’m not sure who he was, but he seemed to know the people we were sitting with – showed off a few tricks with bottles.

One woman, I suspect, dislikes me; it will be interesting to see if my impression is correct. Also, I took something of a dislike to one guy sitting with us; he was rather loud and overbearing, and also thoroughly rat-arsed. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be friendly (not that putting your arm around me is a good way to go about that) or intimidating, with odd “I’m looking at you” or “look into my eyes” gestures. It doesn’t really matter which; he managed neither.

Otherwise everything seemed to go quite nicely. Afterwards I may even have managed an early night.

 
* Faux pas comes from a golfing term, meaning that your enemy has potted the ball in exactly the correct number of hits.

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Posted 24 August 2011 by Colthor in Diary

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