Knocked for Six

My first blog entry for nearly a month for a mulitude of reasons, firstly being that the girl I was seeing from Sheffield Uni decided that she did not want me to visit her again, thus bringing on a period of depression similar to that of Marcus Trescothick. It was due to the fact I accused her of being overly promiscuous i.e. a slag. Although the comment was only in jest, she seemed to take it a little too seriously and broke down in tears in the middle of the pub. I was pretty annoyed about the whole thing as we had been getting on really well, and I knew that in order to try and get her out of my system I had to go out and pull a better looking girl. Maybe Tresco called his missus a slag and this is what triggered his 'stress injury', but we will never know.

Unfortunately, this failed as my confidence was shot, plus a lot of the women hanging around York's nightspots on the weekend in question were complete dogs. On top of this, eveyone I told about the story failed to brighten my mood. Instead of people saying 'There are plenty more fish in the sea', the general concensus was 'You're a f*cking idiot'. There wasn't much time to go until the trip to Vegas, so after a couple of nights heavy drinking I decided the best thing was not approach any other chicks until we got to the States.

America came and went without any success in the pulling department, in fact while we were out there I hardly tried as there were so many other diversions (gambling). After we returned I couldn't be bothered Blogging as I was so jetlagged I slept most evenings. Luckily, I managed to end my drought last night in the tried and trusted manner of Ziggy's nightclub (Before you ask - yes, she was legal, and no, it wasn't a stripper).

I feel now that the air of gloom has been lifted and I can get back to some hardcore blogging. The plan was to serialise the Vegas adventures over 4 or 5 entries starting today, but I woke up with the worst hangover known to man and haven't felt like typing all day. Sometimes people say 'I have the worst hangover ever', but they don't really mean the worst ever. They probably haven't been hit in the back of the head at point blank range by a paintball travelling at 180MPH before embarking on their drinking session. But i'll leave that story for another day...