Oceay Bananas

Friday night was the night, obviously, Oceana was the venue, again obviously, and Guiche was my partner in crime, you get the gist, obviously. Sure, cynics would suggest that I was going to meet Jodie, although, I maintain that I am a big Oceana fan, and if Jodie was going to be there, then, well, the more the merrier. If you believe that, then you'l believe most things, but I digress. As it happened, Jodie's appearance was brief, fleeting rather than flirting, and she was gone by half one, whisked away by a Scottish stranger. And for a stranger he seemed alarmingly threatened by me, questioning my sexuality amongst other things, I m glad he didn't ask me if I had a job, talk about giving the guy ammo. To reiterate, I dont have a job! No one will employ me, rejections aplenty, Oceana was supposed to lighten the mood.
The dance floor was then taken by storm by two strapping young lads, dressed to impress and with a license to thrill, believe it or not it was not Brad Pitt and George Clooney, but myself and Guiche. More accurately, we were wearing the same shirts we always wear, and our dancing was perhaps even clumsier than normal, although the signature move, one arm raised, one finger in the air, was still ever present. A young lady, pretty in pink, was seemingly drawn to me, like a moth to a flame, so I m telling people. In reality, i think her 'fancy dressed' friends probably dared her to pull the guy in the white shirt with man-boobs', but I think thats harsh, I 'd say they're 'pecs'. Perhaps suprised that she was relatively attractive, I could not think of a way to ask for her number. Strangely she was quick to leave when I asked for her full name, 'cos i want to look you up on facebook', i thought it was a great line, actually it was her cue to leave, a terrible coincidence, I curse my luck. All the while Guiche was making friends, at the danger of being slightly un PC, rough girls love to be your friend in a club. 'Oh look at your friend with her' , they'l say. And your just thinking, 'why are you talking to me?!', but then, without warning, drums, drums again, and yes, I think so, we're all friends here, Baywatch is on. Like prop forwards at the Rugby World Cup, we belt out the words to our anthem, 'I l be there/ready/very'...who knows , but I will be one of them. Great scenes.
The night is not complete without a Dirty Dallas, chicken fried in human fat and and car oil, tastes suprisingly good, after umpteen VK's and sambuca's, likewise a Subway goes down a treat, and that is my preferred option, Subway melt to be precise, in case you were wondering.
What is it about the eighties music, expensive entry and ageing DJ that draw us back time and again. I don't know, maybe that's the way aha aha I like it....