As well as supporting my juicy booty the wall I was leaning on was also supporting the right hand of the dude I was chit chatting with. If Van Gogh was alive his graphical etching from a side on view would scarily look exactly like this:
Several of my friends would find this quite a sexy position to be in but I found myself feeling slightly vulnerable. It was the nearness of having somebody in such close proximity to my face that made me feel slightly uneasy. I wasn’t worried that he was going to do anything untoward but it was more to do with the way he had edged himself into my personal space without asking for my permission first. This meant he had audaciously assumed a level five of familiarity bypassing levels three (offering of gold and silver) and four (offering of body parts).
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It started off with me admiring the midnight view of South-West London whilst talking to a geeky teenager about the molecular levels of LSD. Somehow I swivelled and got sucked into a conversation with Mr "T".
And thanks to the robust wall I was leaning on my "bottle of rum" remained intact!
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