My face is still aching from what happened on Saturday night.
“It’s Kennedy’s round” some insane guy called Simon announced to our group.
Saturday night was boys’ night out in Newcastle. For some reason I wasn’t performing or entertaining anyone other than myself. By 10pm we are talking about women, boobs and whether “describing your favourite colour as Ginger, is the same as saying your favourite colour is Midget” – because apparently Ginger describes a person, not a colour.
Standing at the bar I ordered the round of drinks in, which consisted mainly of beer and a glass of wine for me – after all, do you know who I think I am?
Next to me, also waiting for her drinks was a mildly attractive 20-something year-old. Tapping me on the shoulder she pointed to an empty glass jar on the bar and said “that’s you!”
I broke out in to donkey-like, heehawing hysterics. She wasn’t laughing. Actually, she was doing ‘the face’.
On second glance it became apparent that she was referring to the label sitting on top of the glass jar that read “Northumbrian Blond”, which describes me pretty well. And is certainly not funny.
Awkwardness decended as she realised why I was laughing. I had thought she was talking about the label affixed to the front of the jar, one that read “coming soon”.