As a single London chick, the end of the week is always dedicated to romantic optimism. You convince yourself that this weekend, you will meet someone lovely and you will begin a beautiful journey, which will lead to expensive rings and happy honeymoons. Nightclubbing and the weekends are all about living a fairytale, from looking like a princess to attending a ball, finding your prince there and living happily ever after.
Needless to say, when you lie on your bed on Sunday morning; shaking, sweating and sipping bland tap water; you feel like an utter fool. No numbers were exchanged, no one interesting came up to you, or if they did, you cannot really tell, as it was far too loud in the bar and you were a bit too intoxicated to register their interest. Prince Charming was nowhere in sight, and neither was his second-cousin, or third-cousin, for that matter. Instead, you spent way too much money, your feet ache from wearing high stilettos, you feel like shit and the memory of all the ineligible bachelors squeezing your bum while passing you by angers you. So what was the point of it all?
Hey, at least you're going out and not staying in feeling sorry for yourself. Besides, it is fun to maintain the illusion that night clubbing is beneficial to your cause. Dressing up is fun, drinking makes you convinced you'll find that perfect someone, holding a cocktail makes you look rich and fun, dancing (even two-stepping in stilettos) burns off some of the calories acquired from drinking, and hanging out with your friends is always fun-tastic. Fun, fun, fun, right?
Last weekend, I ventured into two nightclubs in my quest of making my fairytale fantasy a reality. First up, on Friday night, was Chinawhite, and on Saturday, Jalouse. Despite their cool reputations, my intoxicated state and my alcohol-infused confidence, I did not enjoy the two places very much. The chart-topping music was hardly exciting, and the men in the club were very, very pushy and just looking to score a chick for the night. You would think that all the money you spend would be able to 'buy' you a good evening without sleazy men who ask you to join them for a 'hanky panky' and girls with fake - well, everything - but no. These places were seedy, and no fun.
So while the fairytale illusion of meeting the prince at a ball is overtaken by sleaziness and seediness, there is hope for us chickadees yet :-) The cocktail lounge Match Bar had a really good, friendly atmosphere, and the lounge DJ played really good, upbeat tunes. And, no, you did not have to shout when talking to your friends, so it was the perfect bar for catching up, too. And yes, there were cute guys around, but I did not really get to speak to many, as we had a private booth and a private party. No sight of the Prince Charming though, but his third-cousins were there. So maybe he'll turn up at the Match Bar sometime soon... I know I will!
So no, I did not meet Prince Charming yet. As the chances of meeting him in a night club seem relatively slim, I have given in and joined a dating website. So far, it has been alright, and there are far more eligible men there than there are in the two night clubs I visited. There is a certain old-school romantic feel about sending little messages to the guys you come across there, and then, perhaps, going out on a date with them. It is quite exciting. So maybe my Prince Charming is waiting for me online instead? I will keep you posted ;-)
