Nik lives in Essex, UK and works in London as the editor of MacUser magazine. The posts and comments on this site do not necessarily reflect the views, opinions of values of his employers.
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Christmas is approaching. You can tell. The usual glut of December parties has already begin, and already it’s a case of picking and choosing which you want to attend so that you don’t end up at four different venues each night of the month.
It’s also the month when the usually rediculously reserved British male starts to talk.
Last year it was the taxi driver who insisted on telling me all about how he’d like to be filmed having sex for TV. This year it seems to be people in toilets.
Standing at the urinal tonight, the guy beside me commented on how much he liked me shoes and asked whether they were Kickers or Skreechers. Nobody ever talks at a urinal, much less takes their eyes off the invisible virtual spot on the wall directly in front of their eyes. I didn’t have the heart to tell him they were cheap rubbish I bought two years ago in Next when my old trainers more or less fell to pieces half way down Oxford Street.
He carried on the shoe chat all the way through hand washing and loo-room leaving.
Same thing last night. It was the Sony party. Much fun. You had to go downstairs one floor to find the loos where a bog troll was on patrol squeezing the soap into your hand and dispensing the towels. They don’t have a nice life, so you generally grab them a free PR drink from the bar and they don’t bother you again for the rest of the night, but as I was a whole flight of stairs away from the bar and I had woozy legs I decided to just be friendly instead.
‘Hello, sir,’ he said.
‘Hello. How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you. I like your radiance.’
‘I’m sorry. My what?’
‘Your radiance.’
‘I see. Is it good?’
He nodded a little too enthusiastically. ‘Oh, yes, sir. Your radiance is very good.’
I quickly rinsed off the soap and refused his offer of a towel.
Tonight’s taxi driver, after raving about his 90mph exploits on the A12, felt the need to confess in detail why he was unlikely ever to have children.
What is it about men and December?
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