Sometimes I think, I think I understand the fear in the boy. The fire in the man.

There were four of us in the end.
Two of The Girl's friends from college greeted us from the edge of Morrison's car park in what looked like the sort of area that suggested wandering the streets after the sun goes down would be a very bad idea.
The abundance of Police cars and vans did little to calm that theory.

Inside, we were shown to an over sized table that wouldn't have been out of place in some fairy tale. Chairs that made us feel like children and cutlery that just didn't sit well with anything else. It was very clean though, almost clinical. The food was presented within dishes upon trolleys, where one could help one's self to anything and everything. After double checking on the impressive labelling system that bullfrog's bollocks weren't about to be consumed of course.
On their first visit, they all came back with what they described as some kind of chicken soup. It was particularly difficult to keep a calm stomach amongst their swapping conversations of it's tastiness.
It looked like a bowl of phlegm.
No, seriously!

Not being one for braving food that hasn't already been tested and filed in my 'nice' and 'yucky' memory banks, a Chinese Restaurant is not the sort of place I usually frequent. In fact, this was the first time I'd ever stepped in such an establishment.
I ashamed to say that I stuck with the more tangible food, such as spare ribs, spicy pork and fries. Yes....I'm sorry. I went to a Chinese restaurant and ate fries. I'm hanging my head in shame.

Food issues apart, we engaged in a myriad of conversations; the attraction of Dandelion and Burdock, the elements of bluetoothing, a guy who keeps taking his cock out at their college, a gimp who doubles as a bouncer at a club we might be going to on Saturday night, some let's say 'eclectic' porn one of them was shown by a random guy in a random pub and the murder scene, which was just outside.
I think the evening went well. One of her friends is exactly the sort of friend I'd have down here, if that isn't such an odd thing to say. I really liked him. I can only hope that they liked me.

My battered old car was still in the car park and The Girl and I made our way back to her place. In her kitchen, we enjoyed a couple of smokes, she enjoyed a couple more vodkas and we did what we do best. We talked.
A few days earlier, I was changing all my 'background info' page. As I began writing about myself something occurred to me. I wondered how much of what I would write would be something The Girl would write about me also. So I asked her. I asked her to write down 40 things about me. After a few reservations from her side, she agreed, but only if I did the same for her in return.
So on Saturday night, in her kitchen....we exchanged what we'd written.
I said one....she said one.
Some of what she'd written about me was lifted straight from my old list. She admitted she'd committed most of them to memory.
Stalker Alert!!!!
I fucked up on two of mine. I said she'd lived in Denmark as a child, when in fact it's Holland and I fucking knew that. I just had a lapse of intelligence at the time of writing. I also said Will Ferrell was on her 'would do' list, which had her in hysterics. She showed me a picture of him on the net in between her giggling fits. It was a simple case of mistaken identity caused (or so I said) by the fact that he'd been in movies with the other guy before. Of course I'd meant to say Owen Wilson.
I'm not sure if it was the weed or my list that gave her a case of the giggles, but the 'Swedish nipples' pushed her over the edge.

< /weekend >