Just Grand

Trying my very best to feign interest in what the young ginger man has to say I am more engrossed on ensuring that the waiter doesn’t forget to fill my wine glass. Seemingly caught up in his own speech the ginger seems to be over spilling with enthusiasm at his own sharp wit and the passion of his tale carries through as the rest of the crowd chirps and twitters at the right moments of his tale. I myself continue to deliver my same half smile while holding my wine glass up and beckoning towards the waiter that seems ever content to ignore me.

The places and people I end up with in trying to keep my beautiful girlfriend Stacey Peruzzi happy. The thing about these arty types is the way they take themselves so seriously. Take this rather verbose ginger man that has been speaking full throttle for the past five minutes. An up and coming writer no doubt his first book has brought him some acclaim, a rather torrid tale of a old man who falls in love with his adopted daughter, the kind of smut that seems to bring critical acclaim nowadays. Hook me up with an Irvine Welsh book any day if I wanted to read something perverse that could make me laugh. Does the fact that he has written a book make him endlessly fascinating to others or he is really that interesting, I think rather not, his loudness seems to be a façade for the boredom that would ensure were you to really listen to what he was saying.

Oh bother, is the waiter never going to come my way, I make a stretch to reach for the nearest wine bottle but instead end up spilling Stacey’s glass all over myself. This puts a halt on the ginger’s tale as everyone tuts and makes a fuss over some spilled wine. Excusing myself with all due pleasure at the chance to make an escape I rush to the Gents hoping I can wash some of this stuff off.

The bathroom in this 5 star restaurant seems to be pure luxury, giant marble bowls, golden faucets, wall sized mirrors, the very hallmarks of prestige, so unlike what I am used to. I wash up as best I can applying cold water to my shirt where the wine has spilled and then I notice some absolutely beautiful luxury bath towels hanging by the side, they are Canningvale towels made from pure Egyptian cotton. I use them to dry up, it’s like drying myself with feathers of an angel, soft vibrant and soothing in every way.

Suitably dried out I am extremely tempted to take one of these towels with me, something good to come out from a night like this. Fighting back my Robin Hoodesque urges I make my way back to dinner only to find the ginger still going at it. It is going to be a terribly long night I decide. Only one thing left to do I suppose.

I then proceed to spill a glass of water all over my lap. Oh bother, I guess I will have to just go back and dry it all up now.