For those of you who thought my blog would suddenly become more interesting (as if that's even possible) since moving to London, and perhaps less about mundane adventures, such as boarding a train, playing video games or watching TV, I write with a story that takes place outside of the house and, indeed, the banality of public transport.
That's right. In an attempt to find something more interesting to write about (and maybe - incidentally - have a good time) I went out on Friday night. To a bar.
(I won't even tell you how I got there.)
But I was early. Never one to be fashionably late (or even fashionable, for that matter), I got to Tiger Tiger in Haymarket a good half-hour or so before my friends arrived, giving me ample time to loiter awkwardly by the bar, even smash a glass and act like it wasn't me.
Still, the fracas drew some attention. And I was soon chatting to a South Korean girl who loitered with just as much awkwardness, if not more. Hers derived from the fact that her English was almost incomprehensible.
At first I couldn't tell if it was because the music was loud or if indeed because she was new to the language. In any case, I understood that she was looking for a boyfriend and, I suspect, a way to stay longer in this country.
Her attempts to do so were misguided to say the least.
"You have strange face," she said.
"Like...in a good way?"
"It's a strange," she insisted.
Just as she began to gesture with her hands and demonstrate just what it was about my face that was quite so strange my friends arrived.
I followed them, left the South Korean girl at the bar and headed to the dance floor, more awkward than ever.
