Big Wonk-end Pt 2

So while I'm on the couch enjoying my post-club beer on the sofa I remember (a few) of the things that happened:

I see two guys from the gym which sounds potentially exciting but in reality it isn't. When I see them at the gym I never actually notice them doing anything which is pretty evident when they have their shirts off.

Words like 'fat', 'not' and 'muscle' spring to mind.

One of them looks completely off their face but his boyfriend (?) recognises me and we exchanged "hullo -I-know-you-from-the-gym" smiles.

At one point I need to wee so end up queuing for the urinal. This really pisses me off.

Area is a gay disco, fine. Yes, it's sweaty and the atmosphere can be pretty sexually-charged but there's no fucken excuse for guys to stand at the urinal and jerk off. It's lame.

And why is it always the same guy who's having a wank at the urinal? You know the one - he's always slightly older than everyone else, wears checked shirts and has glasses.

I don't know why he just doesn't cut his losses and head for the sauna next door?

I estimate I spent 95% of the time on the dancefloor which means being variously groped, kissed and leaving with about 80 varieties of other men's sweat on you.

There was a moment of some horror when my back pressed against what felt like someone else's back who I thought was wearing a T-shirt.

I turned around to realise that it wasn't a wet T-shirt but was instead a very sweaty and very hairy back. I didn't like that.

So that was Matinee. And if you want my honest opinion, it all felt a bit "done". They either need to give it a rest or maybe it's just time to find a new playground.

Moving on.

Sunday night is our annual summer house party which means I spend most of the day moving furniture, in other words, trying to tire myself out so that I can sleep.

I finally manage about an hour of shut-eye before it's time to start again.

There's a vat of cold beer and wine, about 20 takeaway pizzas on order and my housemate's friend, who's a DJ is setting up his decks.

Things go notoriously downhill when friends start arriving.

Why do people always gather in the fucken kitchen?

And then there's this - the drinks counter before...

And afterwards.

Goddam alco-friends. The mixers have hardly been touched but the Pimms and Vodka bottles have been hammered.

All in it was a great party - we only turned the music off at about 4-ish. Sitting out on the terrace there is me and four other die-hards (one woman, three gays - naturally) drinking as the sun is rising.

This is the second morning in a row that I have been sat with alcohol in one hand and a cigarette in the other, watching the sun come up.

The ratio is now 30 hours awake: 1 hour asleep.

Finally at about 7am I get into bed. If there's a box next to the line "I went mad on Bank Holiday weekend" I think I'm pretty confident I can tick it.

Edit: Not wanting to look a gift-horse in the mouth, somebody put beer in the deep-freeze and forgot about it. I've just fished them out and while typing this have fucken relished sipping one (okay two).

Come on, admit it. They do look fucken tempting. Besides, it is Bank Holiday Weekend for god's sake.

Right, now I'm broken. The end. Go away now. I want to sleep.