Solo Night Out #1

A journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. Yesterday I decided to go out on my own and pull some women. Now, in Europe or America that's not a scary concept in the slightest. Been there, done that etc... But in London it's terrifying.

Brits have a reputation for being cold and standoffish. This is not true at all. We are as friendly as anyone else, to our friends and people we know. We are however, some of the least friendly people I have ever met towards strangers. So, with this in mind I am really not looking forward to going out.

After my epic start on the tube I walked to the club and joined the queue. I tried opening the 3 set in front of me with blonde 8, her boyfriend and fugly. They don't take. It falls apart. 3 set joins from the rear with brunette 9, and a bloke I'm soon to discover is her husband. Damn. And she's out for the first time in six months since little baby was born. Ok. I stop gaming her and just chat to the three of them for half an hour whilst the rediculously slow moving queue inches forwards.

Inside I only open one set, a blonde 8. I'm pretty dire. No negs. No cocky funny. It falls apart. I struggle to resist my urge to get drunk. I know that when drunk I lose my inhibitions and I'll be fine. I resist. I don't drink. (In hindsight, perhaps I should have, everyone else there was getting that way).

There's a Paris Hilton lookalike blonde 10 in the club. She's surrounded by blokes. I chicken out and don't make the approach (idiot).

I leave. Walk around looking for the next venue and end up in this place, the name of which I cannot remember. I've never been to a place with uglier women. There was no-one above a five. Then blonde 8 walks out of the toilets. Thank fuck for that. I approach a nearby set and ask if they know where the nearest cigarette machine is whilst checking out blondie, they have no idea but give me a cigarette. She's mad, doing some matador bullfight crap towards her friend whose sitting down. I approach.

Me: "What are you some kind of matador?"
She laughs.
Her: "Yes, and my friend is the bull"
Me: "Your friend is the bull?" (mock horror), then to friend (fugly 4) "your friend called you a bull, that's not on".

Then go for a few question bits of bullshit. Fugly 4 decides to become fugly obstacle and gets up, announcing to friend that they are going for a cigarette, and tries to hustle her outside. I tell her that's great (I still have a cigarette in my hand), and ask if she has a light. I game her a bit and she's instantly into me (eugh). Fortunately HB 8 returns and I get back to her. She's swiss. She works in Luton. I tease her about being swiss and about living in Luton. Things carry on. It's cold. We go back inside. HB 8 says she's going home. I ask her for her number.

HB 8 lifts up her hand... engagement ring. Damn. By this point I've agreed to take them all (not realising that HB 8 was leaving) to a club in exchance for austrain chocolate that fugly had in her backpack (!?). Now I'm left with fugly (who now of course thinks it's on, cos seriously no sane guy would ever normally game her) and her four fugly friends who appear out of nowhere. We all walk outside and without saying goodbye I just walk down the street and disappear.

Next I hear talking in french and see some 8's in a large set. I walk over and shout in French

Me: You guys French?
French dude: Yeah.
Me: Good. I'm sick of English people right now. Can I hang out with you guys?

I start chatting to french 8, who is very very cute, until overprotective boyfriend drags her away giving me dagger eyes. French 7.5 brunette is trollied, but cute. Then she squats down between two cars and starts peeing. Classy :s

The start chatting to the blokes and tell them I'm actually English and masquarading as a French person. They love it (my French accent is impeccable). They tell me to take them to a pub, but by this point I can think of a couple of places, but have completely lost my bearings. One guy tells me he has google maps on his phone and fucks about with it for 10 minutes. The group is bored and we end up on Oxford street. We go to subway. Then they tell me they're going to a club in Old Street. That's east. I live west. I with them a good evening. Bum a fag off one (to americans reading this: bum a fag = get a cigarette), and decide to call it a night.

On the bus two blonde 7's are sitting behind me, wearing less cloth collectively than I have covering my feet. I can't tell if they are under age. I don't open the set (which I of course regretted).

Got back. 3:30 am. Freezing cold. Success... well considering I number closed on the tube I'm happy. And I conquored my fear.

Red 9 has blown me out for this evening. Might try it on with Red 8 (who loved the fact that I went to a blues bar last night) or Actress 10. Will definately try and escalate with Welsh 9 (though she's not actually welsh, just unfortunately happens to be there). And not heard back from Lebonese 9. Ah well, she had a boyfriend anyway.

Note. I've not had sex with any of these women, just number closed them and kiss closed one (Red 8). In fact I've not even number closed Actress 10 yet, I only mention her as she expressed some interest to a mutual friend yesterday- how much I'm not yet sure. Actress 10 would be a massive ego boost, she's just finished being in the new Sweeny Todd film and is a genuine 10 - stunning.

Number scoring: Women are rated on a scale of 1 to 10, with anyone below a 6 being unacceptable. HB 8 is therefore a good looking girl. 9's are stunners who are constantly chased by men. 10's are the ones that make your jaw physically drop.

HB = ..... hot babe? I'm not entirely sure, but I think that's right.

Fuck - I've had 4 hours sleep and want to go out again tonight. And I'm supposed to go flat hunting today.