I know I promised to tell you about the headmaster next, but I’m hungover and can’t be arsed. I’ve had some hair of the dog but it hasn’t touched the sides.
I was out clubbing last night in a pair of gold PVC trousers. It wasn’t fancy dress before you ask, I just happen to have a very loud wardrobe. My mate Dan once told me that I don’t have outfits, just a load of costumes.
I rocked those trousers last night, I felt like I was in Studio 54. I’ve totally got my swagger back.
I was shit faced by the time I left the club. My swagger became a stagger, then I went arse over tit and faceplanted the tarmac down Kennington Lane. The trousers were ripped to bits, as was my knee.
Anyway, about the persistent number. I have always said that dating is a numbers game. For me it seems to be about one number in particular, four.
I haven’t got past date four with anyone since I dumped that loser nearly two years ago. It’s like a curse. Something always goes wrong before or on date four. It’s often disappointing because there’s got to be something there for it to get that far. It happened again last month actually, but I’m keeping that particular disappointment permanently under wraps
Anyway, the reason I bring this up is that I’ve got a very rare fourth date with someone this Wednesday. If it goes well it will be new territory for me, if it doesn’t, the curse of the persistent four will have struck again.
I’m quite nervous about it actually. This fella is handsome, he’s nice, he LOVES indie music, he codes, seems reliable, his name forms a hilarious pun when combined with mine and he has a good head on his shoulders. He has unexpectedly grown on me. Date three ended with a rather electrifying kiss. I know, get a room.
Next time I’ll tell you what I got up to in the headmaster’s office. I still find myself grinning when I think of that one.
Alright losers, get back to it
Harrison Chase logging off