Hannalt!

Today, I woke up and the first thing that went through my mind was

“Shit…………Hannalt!”

Last night something mortifying happened. While I’m waiting for my intravenous saline drip to kick in and cure my hangover I’ll tell you all about it.

The beers were really flowing last night. I was at the window table in a bar in Soho, chit chatting with two tall attractive friends about the pros and cons of red underwear. All of a sudden a curly-haired blonde lady caught my eye through the window. With a pang of recognition and warm cuddly nostalgia I ran outside to reunite with my old friend Hannah.

“Hannah!” I shouted as our eyes met.

“What did you call me?” came the reply.

I realised with horror that it wasn’t Hannah. It wasn’t even a lady, it was a man man! I had two options here, one was turn around and walk back inside. The second was to try to talk myself out of it and walk away with my head held high. I chose option two.

I have to say, I think I did rather well considering how many beers I’d had. I told the androgynous young man that I’d mistaken him for my German friend “Hannalt” who I hadn’t seen for five years. Unfortunately the conversation kept going for another ten minutes after that. There were lots of questions about who Hannalt was, where in Germany he was from, what he did for a living.

There has only been one other occasion when I’ve put my foot in it so badly. I once congratulated a colleague on her pregnancy. It turns out she’d just become really fat.

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