April Fuel

[Sweder]

I know when to go out
I know when to stay in
Get things done

[SIZE="1"]Modern Love, David Bowie[/SIZE]

Embarked on a City-Centre Friday Night outing for the first time in a long, long while. Towards the end of the evening the average age of the desparate hoards of make-up-plastered manhunters easily exceeded sixty. I felt like the tethered goat in Jurassic Park.

As Graeme (the Event Director) and I escaped into the city streets, frantically searching for a taxi, our female colleagues followed, doubled up with cramps, tears of hysterical laughter rolling down their flushed faces. Our insolent curiosity had turned to naked wide-eyed fear as several Queen Latifa-sized women locked on, brazenly adjusting their ample, scantily clad upholstery whilst never losing eye contact as they bore down on us. It was like Night of the Living Dead in there, badly made-up zombies marauding through crowded bars steaming with jungle heat laced with estrogen. The sound of ticking biological clocks was deafening. Contracts were negotiated, signed and exchanged with a look and a nod, a fearsome parody of a frenzied Smithfield auction. Resistance was futile, our desperate scrabbling for the exits the last fevered act of the damned and the wretched.

No doubt the girls with us enjoyed seeing the shoe firmly on the other foot, but for me it was all too much.
Suggestions of a return tonight have been met with a resolve to wash my smalls and catch up with Coronation Street.