Last of the Mojitos.

When you are a party girl, every overheard conversation is a potential invitation, and every meeting is a possibility of fun to come or at the very least, a point of discussion, and on Saturday night just gone I had a classic hook-up typical ‘ligging’ experience just like that.  It started off while I was having a couple of drinks in one of our local pubs, the Dog and Duck (known affectionately around here as the Cockapoo and Mallard) supporting some of my rugby loving friends, supporting England playing against Australia. Well I say playing against but it was more like candy being taken from a particularly vulnerable, English baby on Saturday wasn’t it? Brutal.

My friends included Drew, who I just happened to invite ‘cos I know he loves Rugby and he gets on with some of my ex Uni friends, and my good chum Marco, over here from Rome for the world cup. He’s tall, very handsome and looks a bit like Daniel Day Lewis, in the right light. He’s a lovely guy, if a little old-fashioned (in other words Italian)  in his attitude to women, and very animated about everything.  It was very loud in the pub, what with the sound of Australians chuckling at our attempts to understand how to play a game we invented, but the atmosphere was, all in all, pretty jolly.

I was trying to talk to Marco but he had half his mind on the game and the other half of him was discussing the joys of Oleo-Mac petrol mowers with Drew, my colleague from MowDirect.  Oleo-Mac are an Italian brand and Marco is in the business and fiercely nationalistic when it comes to garden machinery. Drew was saying how popular the Oleo-Mac Allroad series has become at MowDirect (exclusive to MowDirect in fact) and in particular the G-53-TK Allroad Plus 4 and Marco was telling him, “…of course they are, they are incredible,  Italian engineering, fantastic reliable, with the colour of Italian oranges  … like lawn-cropping Lamborghinis or a grass-lopping Ferraris, beautiful sexy engines and ….”  well you get the picture. If ytou wnat to know more about how good Oleo-Macs  are,  don’t ask Marco, just read this

So I was casting my eyes around, wondering if there was anyone else to talk to when I spotted, out of the corner of my eye, a woman looking at me in a rather quizzical fashion. I recognized her Darcy, a local, in fact someone to whose house I had been for a party some while ago, where they made fantastic cocktails and I got rather drunk ended up standing on top of the piano and singing Karma Chameleon at the top of my voice.

Eventually she walked over and leaned towards me. The pub had got even louder by now as England bravely attempted to remember how to play. We could hardly hear each other. The following is what I thought was being said. It went a bit like this…

Darcy: Polly isn’t it?

Me: Holly

Darcy: Yes. Polly. You came to my party

Me: I know you’re called Darcy. We met at your party

Darcy: Yes, Darcy that’s right. Yes. Listen. You’re the end. You took Mike Daniel’s gay shoes and drank the last of the Mojitos (at this point I was totally confused)

Me: What? I don’t think so…”

Luckily, at this point, the noise stopped as England finally gave up trying to persuade the Australians that they were in any way an international Rugby team.

I said. Sorry, Darcy. Did you just say that “I’m the end and I took Mike Daniel’s gay shoes and drank the last of the Mojitos?”

Darcy laughed. For a long time. Eventually she said, “No. I said your friend looks like Daniel Day Lewis in the last Of The Mohicans.” He’s very dishy. Would you and your guys like to come to another party later at my place, just as long as you bring him?

Yes I said. We’ll be there. I’ll catch you at closing time. She looked around at the heaving pub. ‘We’d better meet outside”. Don’t worry, I said, in a loud voice  “I will find you. ” She didn’t get it but I had to try. Well. You have to don’t you. See ya. Holly.

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