Another week, another series of weird and wonderful happenings. The above photo is the sight that greeted me and a work mate after a meeting in the East End. We were strolling along chattering away, then suddenly - a German Shepherd in shades sat smack bang in the middle of the pavement. Sure, why not?
We looked at each other with a 'did those clients put something in our water in that meeting?' kind of glance. Obviously, the first instinct of both of us was to pull out camera phones and capture this undeniably cool dog. He belonged to a homeless man who was very charming and let us pat his friendly companion, so we gave him some cash for his trouble and went on our merry way, texting pictures of Cool Dog to our friends.
One night after work this week, a bunch of us had gone back to do the final clear out of the old office. It was a bit nostalgic but rather fun. We found: a crown, a Margaret Thatcher mask, a lot of paperwork, some old photos of the ghosts of colleagues past, a bottle of lethal-looking Absinthe and I was overjoyed to find a bottle of Jo Malone Pomegranate Noir perfume that I'd forgotten I had. After clearing the office in record time, we had a drink 'for old time's sake' in our old stomping ground.
Randomly discussing shit chat up lines we'd either used/ had used on us; I went to get a round on my own. I reeled off the order to the barmaid, when a voice chirped up,
"And a JD and Coke for me! *hic*"
A very, very drunk Brazilian man was stood next to me.
"I am Piedro! I am from Brzail. Sorry for being cheeky then. It's my birthday." Like that made it ok.
We shook hands and got the formalities out of the way. I asked why he was alone at the bar on his birthday. He maintained he was waiting for his friends to join him. Ok.
Me: "So how is your birthday evening going? You seem... er... merry?"
Piedro: "It is so much better for seeing you!" Seeing as he was gently swaying whilst delivering this classic line, I could pretty guarantee he could see two of me and probably thought he was addressing twins.
He double whammied me with the follow up,
"It would be even better if I could have your mobile number yes?"
While I fought every fibre of my being's impulse to look deep into his eyes, stroke his leather-jacketed arm, and implore him to take me to Brazil forever; I managed to restrain myself.
"Um, no, I don't think so. But you can have a birthday shot."
Fully confirming how incompatible we were, (aside from the fact he was wasted, not very attractive and the fact that I never trust men who approach girls at bars) he ordered a B52. No one needs to drink Sambuca and Baileys. Together. Or even separately really.
I think this may have been the tipping point for his drunkenness, as when I walked past him later in the evening; his swaying was more dramatic, and he was frantically texting his still non-existent friends.
"Hollaaaaaa gorgeousch!". Crossed eyes are normally not a good sign.
On an unrelated note, another random London happening this week: seeing Jon Snow saunter past me in Paternoster Square in his cycling flouros. He's very tall. I really wanted to ask him about the snazzy socks he always sports on Channel 4 News, but I didn't.
I also once shared a lift with Sir Trevor McDonald in the ITN building. Legend. Very gentlemanly, opened a door for me. Very shiny too.
Perhaps I have some sort of affinity with newsreaders. I wonder who I'll meet this weekend?
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