I don't dance much.
But with enough drinks to shed my inhibitions I'll merrily reel about the dance floor looking for all the world like the town drunk fighting an army of invisible giant bees.

I recall reluctantly accepting an invite to a friend's birthday in a bar in Chiswick. I went because the friend was a good one, and I wanted to help him celebrate becoming older. I went only reluctantly because I knew that I'd be subjected to an evening of R 'n' B and other equally atrocious aural insults that would be certain to loosen my bowels.

I don't really remember drinking sufficiently to stagger onto the dance floor, and I certainly don't remember launching a full pint of beer across the room and into the face of the DJ, but I'm assured that I did both, and that I did them with reckless abandon.

The music didn't restart for some time that evening, for I'd broken some important equipment. My protests that I was doing them all a favour by saving their ears from such an abomination weren't well received, and I was swiflty ejected into the cold night before the braying mob could tear my beer slingers off at the sockets.

I sobered up on a night bus from Trafalgar Square to Peckham without a clue as to how I'd made it that far, and promptly rang my mate to see how his party had gone. I was quietly advised that in no certain terms am I welcome in that particular bar ever again.

I still maintain that I was doing them a favour. That music really is fucking dreadful.
( Moey, Thu 9 Apr 2009, 14:49, 2 replies)

*click*
You have my eternal respect and gratitude.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Thu 9 Apr 2009, 15:16, closed)

*click*
You sir appear to be monopolising my clicks today.
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Thu 9 Apr 2009, 16:04, closed)