Blood on the guitar strings
Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
332Trip End Ongoing
Map your own trip!
Show trip route
Where I stayed
Soon the debauchery descends ever further into the deepest, darkest depths of hedonism. It's like everyone had been cooking up Absinthe and downed a bottle each. We're writing limericks on all the tables, watching fancy dress tin foil robots dance to Kung Fu Fighting, and playing limbo with an ex all American high board diver and a former gymnast. The worm is busted out. Balloons are being thrown on candles. Hair is filled with silly string and streamers. Paddy has been backed into a corner by one of the English girls with the classic line "what's the best way to share a sweet?" Subsequently he's been duped into having her tongue down his throat for most of the night
I'm dancing in a club with a circle of girls round me. For one night I'm a superstar, as I'm constantly approached for pictures and hugs. Paddy is raging he's been taken out the game early, as the whole place is teeming with beautiful women. I'm getting eyes from all angles, never before enjoying this many choices, and it seems like I'm set to break my duck, when I meet Dana; arguably one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen. It's all going to go downhill from there, especially as I totally freeze and forget how to chat.
She's 20, Israeli and flirting wildly. Not just with me. With the kilt I might have the edge, and she writes her details down across my right forearm. I return the favour and pen "you're the hottest girl I've ever seen" on her shoulder. After fending off a few more photo requests, I pull her aside, and at Paddy's suggestion, scrawl "kiss me" on her arm. Apparently she doesn't know me that well and she doesn't do that. I decide not to press it as I already have her details, and I'm happy knowing I'll facebook stalk her later, and there might be a Dutch option back at the hostel anyway
In spite of not achieving that elusive kiss, I return to the hostel in a buoyant mood, only to find everyone else shacked up. The room is filled with loud music and snogging, bad flirting and bright red eyes. As it starts to fade, I bring out the guitar and play till there is blood on the strings, I've been flashed an Australian's breasts while covering Crowded House, and I've been told "you've no idea how much I want to fuck you right now." The totally ossified English girl is then escorted to bed by an 18 year old kid who looks like Gollum. Not soon after I pass out wearing nothing but my green kilt socks and Sgian Dubh. It's probably for the best that it's not real.
In years to come people will take pride in saying they were there. We few, we drunken few, we band of rampaging loons and scallywags. It was just one of those nights. It was just one of those nights. It was just one of those nights.