The plan was to go to my hotel, eat a nice pasta and go watch a movie later on. The day was payday Friday in Liverpool. I had no choice but to join the people I've been working with for a drink after work. It's a tradition on Fridays and on payday Friday it is obligatory. I've enjoyed working with them and this time they weren't taking me to a gaybar but to The Queens, were everybody from the adjacent offices meets after work. I would have a drink or two and go home on time to finish the evening as planned: all by myself with good food and a walk to the local movie theater.

Angela and Helen were at The Queens and so was Ronny, who finally came out of the closet. We checked out the good or interesting looking fellas. I came out as the winner in the Tell-whether-they're-straight-competition. But earlier this week I had made an error of judgement which was about to backfire. The assistant of Ronny looks gay to me but he isn't. Arthur the assistant turned up after my fourth glass of wine and a shot of apple vodka and seemed determined to prove me wrong. I agreed to going out tonight. He will be waiting in the lobby at 7.30 pm. No way out now.

I wish that was it, but it isn't. How could it be? I'd already had too many drinks and all his attention and flattering sounded better and more convincing than it ever would have if I'd been sober. He confessed that he'd had all the girls in the office - if you deduct the lesbians that number must be quite feasable - not something you win me over with. Since I knew he is a German (from Polish origin - I usually like Polish men - this was going somewhere) and I am a big fan of Thomas Mann I thought I'd switch the subject. He likes Thomas Mann but hadn't heard of Tonio Krüger (my favorite Mann novel) - a pity and an unbridgeable gap. With the water being too deep and my glass nearly empty I just wanted to go home, eat and sleep.

Arthur had other plans and proposed to go somewhere to eat. I agreed. My shoes were aching and the nearest food supply would do. Instead he led me to another bar where everybody agreed to meet later that evening. Too drunk to refuse, I had another drink. Luckily I dropped it on the dancefloor or I would've been in a coma today. The dragqueen discobar made sure everyone knew I'd dropped a glass when she turned the music down to ask somebody of the staff to clean the floor. Right, so I was dancing. I love dancing, especially when I'm slightly tipsy. Yesterday however I was plain and simple wasted. I danced and danced and found myself kissing Arthur the assistant. I managed to spot some more lesbians too.
Then all of a sudden it hit me that this wasn't supposed to happen and that if I drunk some more I would end up going home with Arthur or with one of the lesbians standing on the side of the dancefloor. So I grabbed my purse and left. First thing I did was buy a minibox of Pringles. I walked home in British ladies style: swaggering from one side of the sidewalk to the other and ate the Pringles on the way.

I ordered room service, managed to carry the tray into my room and started on the ham and pea soup. I experienced difficulties in finding my mouth and the plate of soup. I finished the soup and fell asleep, leaving a whole dish of penne untouched. Luckily pasta with tomatoes also tastes good when it's cold. I woke up in the middle of the night and finished what was left. Then I watched 'What would Jesus drive?' about the excessive use of cars in the US and the popularity of sports utility vehicles (known as the grotesque 4x4 in Belgium). Apparently some evangelist churches are using religion in the fight for a more considerate and environmental friendly use of cars. With a full tommy and the comforting thought I hadn't been out making a child to be born in this weird polluted world I fell back asleep.