Ugh, work has been perfectly vile this past week, almost non-stop busy and the creme de la creme of London's snotty upper classes on their absolute worst behavior. Sometimes I wonder how I cope without drugs until I am gently reminded that chocolate is addictive.
Anyway, to cope with all the stress, a sizeable portion of the office homosexuals decided to go for a debauched night out in old London town. Unfortunately by the time I had finished my late shift, they rest were as drunk as a straight man at a Chelsea game and had decamped to the sleaziest bar I can possibly think of, but alas I had promised to go and I couldn't possibly go back on my word.
All manner of debauched things happened, precluded by the twinky young actor we had dragged along leaving in fear of his life after being engaged in conversation by several sleazy guys who I would imagine only barely classify as human in any biology textbook. Somehow I did manage to find one attractive man in there and had a bit of a flirt, but when he told me his name was Milan I just couldn't take him seriously OR home.
What WOULD the neighbors say?