Never let it be said that I don't do my bit for international relations. We, the English, sometimes have a stuffy attitude towards our cousins on mainland Europe. We just don't always understand them. You know, what with the Germans being all... Germanic and shit. I mean, every German I've met has ended up calling me "Schwanzlutscher", whatever that means. I don't know why they can't just get my name right. Anyway, never let it be said that I don't open my barriers to accommodate international trade.
As you may recall, unless you have a memory as bad as mine, The Boyf and I went to France a couple of weeks back. We wanted to try a "local delicacy" but didn't spot any Frenchmen with Prada skis so came back home with our shirts resolutely unlifted. So it was our good fortune to meet, on Saturday night, a rather fine big, hairy Frenchman who made his country proud. And my bottom sore.
But it wasn't without some manoeuvring. Yet again, just as I'd managed to get his cock out on the middle of the Juicy dancefloor - hey, why wait til you get them home? - his boyfriend turned up. There was a heated exchange, in French, which I pretended I didn't understand a word of, but appeared to be about not knowing where Aunty's pen was, a monkey on a bicycle, and small investments in a wind-generated electricity project in the Scottish Highlands. Or I may have mis-translated. Whatever, to my disappointment the delicious Frenchman was dragged out of the club with only a frantic wave goodbye, never to be seen again, or so we thought.
But the very next evening who should walk into the RVT? No, not Sarah Jessica Parker. That's just silly. Yes, the big, hairy Frenchman, avec le boyfriend. The Boyf and I looked sheepishly at the smaller Frenchman, expecting a tirade of French expletives, but to his credit he came straight over and apologised for being in a bad mood, and gave us his blessing for getting off with his boyfriend. It would have been rude not to, so we dragged him home.
Vive la France!
In other news, we have a South African rugby player already booked in for tonight. And my admission that I've never been in a sling on Saturday night was greeted with glee by the Policeman Who Won't Stop Cumming and his boyfriend. So this Friday we've been invited to their house for a meal, "and then you can try our sling out". I hope it's going to be a light snack. And nothing oniony.
So, whoever posted back my mojo; thanks very much but I don't think this one's mine. It appears to belong to someone younger with alot more stamina. Possibly a Brazilian. You don't mind if I use it until the rightful owner claims it?
Bars/Clubs visited this weekend: 4 (XXL, Juicy, RVT, BarCodeV)
People snogged: 4
Faces sat on: 2
Crabs discovered: None. Yet.
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