Friday, October 29, 2004


There were lots of little tales I could have typed here, and didn't.

Here’s one. The effete and single Russell at a party, all night like this with the boys:

“Monica is a hotty, isn’t she? I know she’s engaged. But Greg says her man Mike is working in Brasil. Think I should try with her? You do? I will then. It’s been too long for me – and too long for her I bet – ! I’d love to get her bed. And you definitely think I should give it a go? I will then. After a few more drinks, that is.” Hours later, a “hello.” Soon, Russell is attempting to flirt, every now and again his head swivelling furtive glances back at the boys, like a snake dancing out from his blankets in a box, panning the crowd, then returning to his master, who plays a tune on a flute or whistle.

At the end of the evening, Greg overhears Monica asking Russell back to her's. Russell would love to he says, but has to be up early next morning. (Visiting someone or other, somewhere or other.) On Monday over lunch, he explains: turns out he really likes her. More than a one night thing, so he decided not to. When’s he going to call? Not sure. His mobile sounds and her name is on the display. He doesn’t answer. Not in the mood. Tuesday over lunch: she’s called twice without leaving a message, and has now sent him a text message. “She’s so keen! Like a stalker. Better give this one a miss.”

Single and sexless he is once more! – but you know what judgement we all silently decide upon. And we all know that at the next party, he will be equally as excited and convinced in talk - and that he will sleep alone later, deceived and fruitless.