Shotzilla

You know you're getting old when the kids at Shotz have you tutting disapprovingly at their raucously sexual behaviour while intermittantly thrusting arms and legs all over the place trying to catch the various bodies threatening to slip on the beer sodden floor and either crack their heads open or slice vital arteries on the large shards of broken glass clustered near the stage.

After quick calculation, I deduce that I saved at least three people from serious injury last night through either post-preventative or pre-preventative interference. I witnessed three relatively minor (in the grand scheme of things) pash-ons happening on the elevated dance stage, complete with requisite bottom squeezing and pelvic thrusts, and one particularly heinous threeway gropefest at the corner of the dancefloor. While a balding 40 year old walking tattoo parlour sleazed on the spot, two girls crying for some solid self-esteem boosts took turns french kissing him and running their hands up and down each other's bodies for his viewing pleasure. It was Pash-On Most Foul.

I remarked to Lucy that I felt as if we were chaperones at a little brother or sister's 18th birthday party. I felt old, but also clean and smart and like I would never have to worry about having bad hair again, and would certainly never make the mistake of tongue kissing an engineer on a pub crawl while wearing a waist high, cross backed grey pinafore.

Peace out (a good weekend to ye all)