You may have read yesterday's post about a swimwear competition attended by a bevvy of reality TV stars, and my attempts to get pictures with as many of them as possible. This post was, in all honesty, quite heavily sanitised. There's a lot that I missed out in order to keep it positive, so that the people involved would retweet it and I'd get the hits on my blog. I missed out some rather bizarre incidents from the night.
First off, let's look at the meetup that I uploaded to Manchester Cool Bars. It shows that no-one went to this. Not entirely accurate. I originally had 2 RSVPs joining me, but one of them backed out at the last minute. The other came late, couldn't find Dog Bowl without explicit guidance and turned up in trainers. The guy looked about thirty. I learned when I was seventeen- DON'T WEAR TRAINERS IN MANCHESTER. You won't get in anywhere other than Fifth Ave in trainers, and I'd rather go free-diving in Michael Barrymore's pool than go there. Weirdly, the rest of his outfit as very trendy- good jeans and plain t-shirt, a long open cardigan and well-styled hair.
So he went home to get shoes... and never came back. Meanwhile, I rolled into the club and started talking to people- whoever I could. Most people were well-natured and cool, like you'd expect- or at least hope- people to be.
I got chatting to Jsky from First Dates. He remembered meeting me at the last Manchester heat in September last year. I got a picture with him again, with him dressed not dissimilar to Ace Ventura when he visits that mental hospital in the first film.
He told me I was gorgeous, then tried- successfully on his part- to kiss me. I coughed him off and wondered away, violated. He then spent the rest of the evening leering at me.
Imagine if I'd done that to a woman, though. Jesus Christ. The doormen would have beaten the shit out of me, I'd probably have been arrested and put on the sex offenders register and my name would be shit in the Miss Swimsuit community.
I thought, fuck it, it's time to balance the situation out somewhat, and hence somehow ended up kissing a (thankfully female) model, who it seemed was married. Well, I didn't make her kiss me. Nor get married.
But anyway, I wasn't there to scupper other people's relationships- I was there for a party, and to hound celebrities looking for gossip. It was my intention to ask people for info that they hadn't told the media already- something I could use to get the edge over the press. I'm still not as confident as I want to be and I didn't ask those questions, and hence ended up with only a shitload of celebrity photos. But I still figured I'd try my luck with Manchester's Scott Thomas from Love Island, who was in the throes of some quite dodgy Denzel-Washington-in-Training-Day impressions.
I walked over and told him I used to go to his Thursday nights at The Milton Club. Immediately, his eyes widened, his hands came up and he backed awkwardly away.
What's the need? I thought. I analysed my own behaviour thinking, what was the problem with what I did?
The conclusion I came to: Nothing. I did nothing wrong. I approached loads of people that night and he was the only person who didn't want to speak to me. But fuck it, if you go to a nightclub and talk to twenty-or-so people and only one of them is difficult with you, that's a good night.
A few minutes later Mr. Thomas started to stress out over something- he was searching his pockets frantically and looking at the floor. I guessed it was his phone and thought, fuck it, I might as well help him out. Maybe someone's half-inched it, or maybe he's just dropped it. Someone stole my phone back in 2011 and it totally fucked up my life, so I can't help be sympathetic. If I find it he might see I'm not quite the arsehole he for some reason takes me for, not that I should be at all bothered. I saw something on the floor that, in the dim light, looked rectangular. I nudged him and pointed at it, but he brushed me off again, visibly annoyed. I walked over to the object myself... and realised it was a discarded drinks straw.
Well. That could have been worse. Not long after this the club started to empty out, so I made a move myself.
The Swimwear events are really good fun, on the whole, and are worth booking off a Friday for. Get involved with the Meetup group to see when the next local heat is.