Skip to main content

True love on the dance floor?

On Friday night I discovered what it was like to party in Ayr. I’ll start from the beginning...

We had a nice dinner – on the veranda, relaxed and with a couple of glasses of wine. This was followed by music and the ubiquitous tossing of outfits around the room – girls having fun. By 11:30 we ventured down the stairs and click-clacked in our heels towards the car – en-route surprising the remaining dinner party members with our choice of attire.

Were we really going out in Ayr? Dressed like that? Yes, and we won’t need jerseys, we’ll be inside where it’s warm! (And we’ll just conveniently forget the freezing dash back to the car at the end of the evening!)

Waving good-bye we ventured forth into the night.

To say some of the characters were less than salubrious would have been an understatement... the over-inebriated woman in the tight black dress with on-show pink bra could have been a walking advert for the AA – if she could walk.

On arrival at the club we headed towards the bar – an age-old tradition that never fails – Dutch courage. ‘No, we don’t do Champagne by the glass, but those gentlemen over there would like to buy you girls a drink’ – ‘ok, they’re welcome to, I just need to decide what I feel like... I’ll have a G&T instead please... and a slice of lemon?’ ‘No, sorry, no lemon.’ ‘Girls this drink is on us.’ ‘Yes, we got that bit, thanks.’

Does a drink mean true-love? No, but I’ll thank you and you can use that chance – that brief exchange of words to capture my attention and imagination. Captivate me with your words and cunning wit, not lecherous, wondering hands and eyes. But I’m diverted. These ‘gentlemen’ seemed to be of the opinion that a bought drink (probably costing somewhere in the region of maybe £2???) deserved utter gratitude and were very keen for us to be exceedingly grateful.

We said thanks and moved on. They followed, hunters narrowing in on their prey. They were Dutch they explained, driving around the country – good for them. I’m usually always keen to chat to someone and am not above making conversational effort... I come from South Africa I said, and can speak a bit of Afrikaans, very similar to Dutch. My conversational partner replied but most of what he said was drowned out by the music and the rest I forgot as I was overpowered by the rank stench of cigarettes that his long hair was wafting.

At my profession that I couldn’t understand a word he was saying he changed topics. ‘We were outside, thinking there were no nice looking girls in Ayr, when we saw the two of you walk inside & thought actually there are nice girls in Ayr, but you girls aren’t even from Ayr’ (please read again with a Dutch accent) ‘oh’ I responded, ‘that’s nice.’ This obviously wasn’t the reply he had been hoping for because the next line that came out his mouth was ‘I just paid you a compliment and that’s all you can say?’

Needless to say the conversation ended there. The next male approach came from the dance floor replete with breast-grabbing-hand-actions interspersed often with the crotch-clutch. Although energetic he was lacking in something... ?

This was followed by ‘hi, I’m X and this is my brother Y.’ It turned out that Y wasn’t a bit slow (as I’d first thought) he’d fast downed most of the beer in the bar, and was later escorted from the premises.

But don’t let what I’ve told you so far put you off – the locals also have some wonderful advice... In the bathroom, having stepped out of the cubicle I was confronted by my slightly unruly head of hair. ‘Don’t worry, I have the same problem’ the blonde said ‘so I just let my hair go curly and put some gel in it [read: 2 – 3 tubes]. In fact when I wake up in the morning it looks exactly the same’ – Really? How odd – somehow I didn’t think suggesting a different brand would solve her problem – she didn’t have a problem, she had a solution!

What this dance-floor held was an assortment of the species, monitored closely by the arm-band wearing bouncers, unique in their attire, proud of their moves, eager to strut their stuff – but definitely not true love.


Lucky

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

We love you Chewy

Earlier this week we had to make the hardest decision anyone with a pet will ever have to make. You have to be totally selfless, even though you’re fully aware of the devastating consequences. I’m typing this with tears streaming down my checks and my nose running. Over the last few weeks Chewy had slowed down, he wasn’t his beansy self, but we knew this might happen and just took everything slower. On Tuesday we went for our walks, he ate all his food and got as many treats as he could. On Tuesday night, he climbed into our bed. His breathing was heavy, the lymph glands in neck had hugely swollen and he was struggling to breathe. He was disorientated and wouldn’t eat or drink. He kept wanting to go outside, but wasn’t able to stand. I slept next to him on the floor, in the other bedroom and came downstairs when wanted to. Eventually at about 5am we called the vet. She confirmed our worst fears. We booked an appointment for 7:45 that morning, we had a little time to say g

Dining room blues

We'd initially thought to give ourselves some time to live in the house before decorating, you know, to get to know the space and how it'll be used... two months in and the dining room is first up! It's pretty obvious, we're going to be eating in there! It was an easy decision (we both agreed with each other) the walls were going to be a dark blue, both have pretty much floor to ceiling windows next to them, so we weren't too worried about the space feeling dark.  Farrow & Ball's Hague Blue was our first choice... so we got a sample. And samples of Stifkey Blue , Drawing Room Blue and Pitch Blue , you never know what it's going to look like on the wall... although the colour samples are a pretty good indication.   With a sort of naughty-child feeling the sample patches were painted onto the wall. It felt quite rebellious just painting stripes onto the wall, clearly ruining the paint already there. But also quite exciting, taking the first of m

My darling dog has cancer

My darling dog has cancer About two-and-a-half weeks ago, on a Friday evening after the Husband had been away for work for the week, the three of us, He, Chewy and myself were sat on the sofa, having a catch-up. The Husband mentioned that Chewy’s glands (lymph nodes) were really big. A bit of back-story, he eats EVERYTHING! He has a keen eye for what we’ve termed a ‘poopsicle’ and happens to chance upon these seemingly tasty snacks rather regularly on his walks. He’s also partial to stale bread that some unwitting fellow has left out for the birds. Or the remainders of a teenagers discarded dinner. Let’s not mention the rotting snacks the fishermen leave behind during fishing season… I think you understand then, that we often have a dog with a bit of a dodgy tummy*. We’re no strangers to probiotics. So, obviously we squeezed probiotics onto his handcrafted meals, and kept and eye on what was going on. But coupled with the swollen glands, we called the Vet and they r