My experience in Poland would serve to fuel an ever growing appetite for travel and adventure and on waking every morning with new plans to conquer the world it was clear to me now that Scotland was not the place to be.
Having given up -again- on my search for the future Mrs Ritchie I was set to live a care-free life doing what I want when I want without the hassle of some self-righteous bitch telling me how I’m doing this wrong and shouldn’t be saying that. However, too many nights spent contemplating life’s next move over a beer at my local would lead my wandering eyes towards a cute, young barmaid I could swear was the perfect spouse. Unfortunately just one fateful gig in Glasgow would bring my advances to a shattering halt.
. . .
Leaving the madness of the Glasgow Barrowlands concert venue I skip next door and take up a seat in the Baird’s Bar Celtic Supporters Club. Drowning in accusations of being Bulgarian due to the coloured ties in my long beard, I give in and reel of a stream of swear words I learnt on a building site passing them of as the basic “Hello, how are you, my name is”…
Stepping outside I spark a cigarette and nod my hello’s towards a couple of young lady’s walking by. They stop, pull at my beard and ask me questions about the band that had played earlier and deciding they want into the after-show party we take up positions beside a dozen groupies waiting expectantly outside Machine Heads tour bus.
Around two fights and thirty minutes later the tall, blond mountain that is Adam Duce – guitarist – appears to grab a few crates from his bus to take inside. I point him out and my new buddies attack. “Can we come in? Please, please, please”. “Sure” he replies. I tag along.
I look around in disbelief. I’m in a room with the legend Robb Flynn! Taking a beer from the basket I come face to face with my idol and cut into his conversation with two stunning birds. “You’re fuckin’ awesome”, dribbles from my lips. Shaking his hand I go on to tell him how great his last album was and that it really struck a chord with me. “Awesome dude, I’m glad to hear it”. What a gent. This guy doesn’t act rich or famous. He’s just as down to earth as Joe Blogs from around the corner!
I leave with the girls I’d come with and we flag down a taxi. “We’re lesbians and we wanna find a gay bar”, I’m told. “Do you wanna come”? Again I tag along.
It’s after three in the morning and nowhere is open. Getting out of the taxi the slightly hotter girl makes her excuses and heads for home. “You can stay with me at my other friend’s house if you like”. Sounds good to me. So off we plod.
Sleeping on a couch once her friend retires for the night I wake with the feeling of a pair of tits in my hands. It IS a pair of tits in my hands! What the fuck am I sleeping for!
I slide my hand around and try working my fingers inside her trousers. My hands removed. I try again. She’s awake but not protesting too much so..I try again. No avail. Into the early hours this continues and finally my hand is greeted by a loosened belt and unbuttoned jeans.
What happens next is something I deserve a slap for. Never again will you hear something so stupid, unless you read another of my stories. -they are not always about trying to get laid-
I jump to my feet on noticing the time and shout “Fuck! The football. I have to get back to Edinburgh”! “You’re joking”? She asks. “No, I’m serious. I have to meet my friend in Edinburgh, travel to Livingston and watch Celtic play away”. She’s not amused. I don’t know how as I stumble like a tripod looking for my glasses still aroused by my recent activities. I pull on my shoes and follow her as she leads me towards the bus station.
Now obviously, under normal circumstances I would have knocked the football on the head and carried on with this supposed ‘lesbian’, but I really liked a girl from my village and her Dad was taking me to watch the football that day. Couldn’t let him down, not if I wanted a go of his daughter.
I arrived at their door just in time looking a little worse for wear. I’d had no sleep and still couldn’t quite believe what had happened the night before.
A few beers before the game and too many after, I soon become a twat and tell her Dad everything. Years of trying to be the perfect gentleman (maybe a few months) wasted in one day’s worth of boozing. That’s one chick my hands won’t be getting near anytime soon, but the twenty pounds I find in my pocket soon puts that smile back on my face.
I recall the girl from the night before handing me the money to hold on to as her pockets were shit. Did try to call her.. But like my fingers in her pants..To no avail!