Pink Sky embarked upon a well-earned night out last Friday. We met up with a few friends at the Jolly Brewmaster and then went on to the Beehive in Montpellier. Through the crowds in the Beehive garden, I (Naomi) glimpsed a familiar face. It was the friendly face of one of my old university tutors! Perhaps with slightly shorter hair. Definitely him though.
Now, the ground surface in the garden of the Beehive is not very even, but far less so in high heels, a little dress and set against the backdrop of a (by then consumed) glass of wine. I tottered across the garden, weaving my way in and out of handbags, ex-public school gents who gesticulate wildly whilst talking about ‘the economy’ and a couple of 45 year old women out on the pull, smoking fags and cursing over a mobile phone (I assume the battery has gone, much to the relief of the cornered young man whom they have decided to attack and ask for his phone number!)
Tottering complete, I reached my destination, squeaked out a (verging on operatic) “Hiiiiiiiiiiii!” and flung my arms wide to give my dear tutor a big hug. It was only when I was within inches on his face that I stopped dead. “H..h.hello?” stuttered a bewildered man, whom I had never seen in my life. ”Oh hello” I replied, blushing furiously, gritting my teeth and cursing under my breath. I managed to do the “Night Fever Night Fever” dance with my arms in order to return them from ’scarecrow mode’ to ‘penguin mode’ before shuffling inside wincing with agony.
“We know how to doooo it!” I sung quietly (and inexplicably) to myself as I shuffled past the bar blindly, looking for a way out. Aha, there was another door to the garden, by the toilet. I would make my exit that way as if returning from the ladies’ room, albeit rather quickly.
Unfortunately (and little did I know), Mr mysterious was, in fact, himself trying to get to the toilet when I had launched myself at him the first time! My bumbling circuit of the bar and corridor had allowed him just enough time to squeeze through the mass of bodies and the fug of cigar smoke in the garden to get to the very same door that I was walking out of!
With great relief I escaped through the door, only to literally crash right into the very same man!! “B…b.but I’ve just seen you!?” he said weakly, with a pained expression. All I could think of saying was, “Yes….” “Are you lost??” he asked? “No…” I replied. We then did that really awkward thing where you both move to walk away at the same time, only you both go the same way and end up doing an Irish jig, face to face whilst trying to work out who is going to go which way.
I scuttled off to re-join my group leaving the poor man looking extremely bewildered indeed. He clutched his head as he wandered into the toilet, no doubt regretting the slightly hallucinogenic effects that his mild cider appeared to be having on him.
