Read Online Love... And Sleepless Nights MAY 2012 by Nick Spalding - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nick Spalding
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wilfully give a pub a name like that, but it’s one of the national chains, so there’s every chance a computer somewhere is spitting out random words that get combined with one another, before being slapped up on the front of what used to be a bank.
I look forward to one day visiting The Fetlock and Nazi, or The Vomit and Biggins.
The pub is packed and I have to manoeuvre my bump through the throng awkwardly.
I’m not all that comfortable carrying it around in front of me yet. Even though the baby’s still got a lot of growing to do, she’s already started to put my centre of gravity off.
I think this is the real reason why they tell you not to drink while pregnant.
The combination of alcohol and centrifugal force would be enough to throw you on your arse every thirty seconds.
Also, it transpires a pregnancy bump has hitherto unforeseen magical powers. It makes you completely invisible to members of the opposite sex!
I’d like to think I scrub up pretty well when I make an effort, and I’ve always attracted the appreciative stares of many a man when out clubbing in the past - particularly if I’m wearing a ridiculously short dress and heels that show off my long legs.
This evening though, I could have been wandering around in a see-through PVC jumpsuit, wearing a hat with the words ‘I’ll fuck you for a jelly shot’ written across it in neon letters and I’m still convinced not one man would have so much as glanced at me.
It’s a depressing realisation.
The bump is like a brand. It means I’m definitely off the market.
…not that I’m on the pull or anything, but a woman likes to think she can turn heads even when she’s happily married.
I’d have to sexually molest the fruit machine in the corner to get anyone’s attention in my present state.
What makes it worse is that Melina, a woman I’d cheerfully have sex with if I leant that way, is getting all the attention I’m not.
Never mind though! I can drown my sorrows in –
…oh no, wait a minute. I can’t even do that, can I?
I just love being pregnant!
We leave The Bog And Trellis at
nine forty five
. I’m stone cold sober thanks to my three diet Cokes, but Melina and the girls are already in a warm, happy haze of light drunkenness following several glasses of wine.
As we walk towards the nightclubs, I get my first inkling of what being drunk involves - when viewed from an objective standpoint.
For some reason the other three girls have all gone deaf.
I assume this is the case, as they’ve all started shouting.
Consumption of alcohol squares with volume it appears.
‘What club you wanna go to?’ Melina says loudly, only a few inches from my face.
‘I’m not bothered, to tell the truth,’ I reply.
‘Let’s go to Mother Kelly’s!’ shouts Rachel.
‘Yeah. Mother Kelly’s is great!’ agrees Shelley.
Mother Kelly’s is not great. Mother Kelly’s is a shit hole with a sticky floor and stickier toilets. The road behind it is affectionately known as ‘stab alley’.
‘Off to Mother Kelly’s we go then!’ screams Mel.
I sigh, knowing they’ll brook no argument from the pregnant, sober one, and consign myself to a night of having my shoes sucked off my feet.
Once past the leering bouncers (not leering at me though - I could have started performing oral sex on one of them and he probably wouldn’t have noticed) we enter the night club and make our sticky way over to the bar.
The girls order a round of shots. I have a lime and soda water. I can’t have another Diet Coke as the caffeine will keep me up all night, and I frankly need a decent night’s sleep.
I just love being pregnant!
The others knock back their drinks with gusto and proceed to order another round. I suck on my straw and begin to think of ways I can take this out on Jamie’s penis. It’s to blame for my current displeasure and it will pay for its crimes.
I spend most of the next hour sat in a booth at the side of the dance floor. I
I look forward to one day visiting The Fetlock and Nazi, or The Vomit and Biggins.
The pub is packed and I have to manoeuvre my bump through the throng awkwardly.
I’m not all that comfortable carrying it around in front of me yet. Even though the baby’s still got a lot of growing to do, she’s already started to put my centre of gravity off.
I think this is the real reason why they tell you not to drink while pregnant.
The combination of alcohol and centrifugal force would be enough to throw you on your arse every thirty seconds.
Also, it transpires a pregnancy bump has hitherto unforeseen magical powers. It makes you completely invisible to members of the opposite sex!
I’d like to think I scrub up pretty well when I make an effort, and I’ve always attracted the appreciative stares of many a man when out clubbing in the past - particularly if I’m wearing a ridiculously short dress and heels that show off my long legs.
This evening though, I could have been wandering around in a see-through PVC jumpsuit, wearing a hat with the words ‘I’ll fuck you for a jelly shot’ written across it in neon letters and I’m still convinced not one man would have so much as glanced at me.
It’s a depressing realisation.
The bump is like a brand. It means I’m definitely off the market.
…not that I’m on the pull or anything, but a woman likes to think she can turn heads even when she’s happily married.
I’d have to sexually molest the fruit machine in the corner to get anyone’s attention in my present state.
What makes it worse is that Melina, a woman I’d cheerfully have sex with if I leant that way, is getting all the attention I’m not.
Never mind though! I can drown my sorrows in –
…oh no, wait a minute. I can’t even do that, can I?
I just love being pregnant!
We leave The Bog And Trellis at
nine forty five
. I’m stone cold sober thanks to my three diet Cokes, but Melina and the girls are already in a warm, happy haze of light drunkenness following several glasses of wine.
As we walk towards the nightclubs, I get my first inkling of what being drunk involves - when viewed from an objective standpoint.
For some reason the other three girls have all gone deaf.
I assume this is the case, as they’ve all started shouting.
Consumption of alcohol squares with volume it appears.
‘What club you wanna go to?’ Melina says loudly, only a few inches from my face.
‘I’m not bothered, to tell the truth,’ I reply.
‘Let’s go to Mother Kelly’s!’ shouts Rachel.
‘Yeah. Mother Kelly’s is great!’ agrees Shelley.
Mother Kelly’s is not great. Mother Kelly’s is a shit hole with a sticky floor and stickier toilets. The road behind it is affectionately known as ‘stab alley’.
‘Off to Mother Kelly’s we go then!’ screams Mel.
I sigh, knowing they’ll brook no argument from the pregnant, sober one, and consign myself to a night of having my shoes sucked off my feet.
Once past the leering bouncers (not leering at me though - I could have started performing oral sex on one of them and he probably wouldn’t have noticed) we enter the night club and make our sticky way over to the bar.
The girls order a round of shots. I have a lime and soda water. I can’t have another Diet Coke as the caffeine will keep me up all night, and I frankly need a decent night’s sleep.
I just love being pregnant!
The others knock back their drinks with gusto and proceed to order another round. I suck on my straw and begin to think of ways I can take this out on Jamie’s penis. It’s to blame for my current displeasure and it will pay for its crimes.
I spend most of the next hour sat in a booth at the side of the dance floor. I
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