Foreplay

Well tas been a mixed weekend indeed. Last week I found myself mostly working and too tired to go out in the evening. Honestly when you have to wake up at 6am everyday even going to bed at 11pm everynight is a disaster.

Despite being exhausted on Friday I figured I should accept a dinner invitation from some nice Turks I know and attempt to be social for the first time this week. It’s amazing how quickly I can slip into hermit mode if given a fair chance. We had a meal in Nitantace, a very expensive area full of high end retail stores and paid an arm and a leg for a few bottles of pinot grigio. I’m still not being paid and my rapidly depleting funds are a source for concern. After that we went to ‘the Roxy’. However this is not like the Roxy of Prague fame where one might be seen making a box to trance music, or catching a few break beats, or stamping to a mental D&B set. In this Roxy, they actually played the Weather Girls ‘Its Raining Men’. Twice.

So disgusted was I at my descent into wedding DJ music, that I had no choice but to slam back a few shots of hazelnut vodka. Anyone who knows me knows that in order for me to do shots, things have to be very dire indeed.

Strangely either the music got better or I became more anethetised because after a time I actually started to enjoy myself.

Then came Saturday which started brightly. The sun was shining, it was 15 degrees. I wore only a light jumper. I meant to pop to the shop to get some breakfast but instead ended up walking along the coast towards the black sea for several hours. And bloody lovely it was too. I had a spot of lunch and then got the bus back, which was about when I sobered up and my hangover kicked in.

Consequently I spent the whole of Saturday evening hugging a cushion on my sofa and wondering what the rugby score was.

Sunday was lovely. A friend picked me up and we had brunch by the sea, after which we went to Ikea, and then to a lovely fish restaurant and watched Fenerbahce V Galatasaray before he drove me back home. Unfortunately, it seems, a lift to Ikea is akin to foreplay to this particular Turk and I spent several hours in the evening playing musical chairs around my living room trying to avoid the arm that kept trying to creep around my shoulder. Eventually he got the hint. But bummer of bummers, the bedsheet set I bought has bits missing so now I am going to have to find another escort to get there. Hopefully some kind of amputee.