Nathan- In Case of Emergency, Break Glass

Sometimes we all need a good kick in the backside. My NOvember compatriot provided that yesterday, when upon hearing of me cancelling the Date, pointed out that I was acting like the one thing I loath above all else (a bitchy Sydney Queen). So I reversed my position and reinstated the date. She then pointed out that gives the impression that I originally cancelled on him to make last minute plans with someone better who then cancelled on me and I went crawling back to what was now a backup, a la bitchy Sydney Queen. You just can't win with Sydneysiders.

It helped that The Date was rather persistant, and that I was wearing an 800 dollar ensemble that I didn't want to go to waste either. So I popped down to BJ Station and in minutes found myself rocketing down Ockie Street on the 333 towards one of Slurry Hills' more popular Gastropubs.

By this point I already had it in my head that I was going to use my Hall Pass. I spent the afternoon moping about like Eeyore on Temazepam to begin with, and after finally re-agreeing to aforementioned date, he took the lead and selected the venue. It was nice. The wagon slowly creaked, then tipped slightly, then smashed up against the wall.

I only had four Shmiddies. I'll give you another lesson in nonsensical Australian English (now there's an oxymoron if there ever was one). In New South Wales,  beer is rarely served in pints outside of Irish bars. I'm not sure the origin of this, but it has a practical aspect. You can't drink pints fast enough here without them getting too warm. I'm not sure if that's by design or not, but whatever works. The standard serve of draught beer comes in a 3/4 pint glass called a 'Schooner'. No idea on the origin of that either, but after a few of them you do tend to sail off into the sunset on the winds of unabashed pleasure. The half measure of a schooner is called a 'Middie'. Again, no idea why and I've never actually seen someone choose to drink one (outside of sneaking a quickie on a ten minute break from the office).

Being a beer snob and favouring imported European Beer over the locally brewed Panther Piss, I'm relegated to a third type of glass, called a 'Shmiddie' which is somewhere between a Schooner and a Middie, and costs more than the two put together. In other words, it's a pretty conservative serving- four of those would maybe equate to two pints.

The date went well none the less. He was charming, educated, cheeky, funny, drives a convertible (which was broken down at the Meth Mall at the bottom of Crown Street) and generally good conversation. I enjoyed the emergency beers- until after the first one. When your body becomes resensitised to booze (and trust me, it doesn't taste long) the effects of alcohol become quite pronounced. You can feel changes to your circulation. You notice your speech slowly deteriorating from 'Razor Wit' to 'Sloppy' to 'Blackbeard'. You feel numb, light headed, awkward. And kindof embarassed. I didn't really like it. Then I thought of how great my skin looks. How I can live on very little money. How nice it feels to wake up at 7am and feel refreshed. So I did the unthinkable, and switched to coca cola.

In the end, things wrapped up at 1030. He hinted at inviting me back to his place for something to eat (read: a casual liaison) and I politely declined, leaving him with a relatively wholesome and chaste good night kiss (up against a skip in the laneway behind the pub. Hey- a shit leopard can't change its shit leopard spots after all). I then scurried back to the judgement free bubble of Pyrmong. I did agree to a second date anyway, despite one slight flaw. He may have spent most of his life in London, but he has a bit of an East Midlands accent. I'm terrible with spotting accents when I'm drunk  hence why I didn't notice until last night. If you don't believe me, I once spent spent 15 minutes talking to a Dubliner in Arq before I realised that he wasnt Australian. And he's not a posh D4 type- I can still barely understand him half the time.

I'm not sure what it is with accents that makes them either attractive or not. Standard English is hot. Cockney english is hotter. South African (hey, I have a musical ear) is hot. So is Berlin german- four years of Frau Thatcher's hard work in instilling Hochdeutsch in me was rapily undone in the clubs of Berlin to the point where I now sound like a Turkish Gangster crossed with a chinese shopkeeper. But I love that accent. But Midlands? Eeeeek- not a fan. It's not as bad as a West Country accent, and probably no where near as annoying as my muddled intercontinental shitmix. But hey, a date's a date, right?

This morning I woke up feeling rather bleak, which matches the weather perfectly.

Pretty Grim, isn't it?

Yes- perfect weather for a bit of balcony introspection. The realisation is this- after NOvember is, I think I'll be happy to keep my booze consumption to a couple of beers every week or two.

I have a long day ahead of me. I'm not going into the office until1, but I have to adminster a Teach to the nightshift so I won't get out of there until 1 in the morning. It will give me plenty of time to think about what I've done, that's for sure.

I'm glad I went out last night solely for that resulting epiphany.

Thanks Luck- your a true Pal:)