has anyone seen my mojo

And Toffee says, enough already, go to bed.

It was a friend’s birthday on Saturday and we all congregated in a bar for a few drinks on Saturday evening. The night was planned, her boyfriend had organised a club in town, and we were all on the guest list - I do like a plan, (that some one else has made), taxis were laid on for 8.30 and the only thing that required any thought at all was how to avoid Eric-the-Bore and Mandy (straight hair and wavy teeth).

The best laid plans of mice and men…..

This was one of those moments that you find out how popular you truly are. I am apparently less popular than the combined charms of Eric and Mandy. I only popped to the loo, it was a matter of minutes, just a quick timothy and some dabbing with toilet tissue (pale jeans), oh and a moment to admire the wit of some wag who had written something other than an obscene offer and a telephone number on the toilet wall: “Oedipus - ring your mum!”

And while I was in there, in those few short minutes, the taxis had arrived and decanted my friends into the city.

Which was nice of them I thought.

So I toddled around the town, a beer here and a beer there, on my own private pub crawl. Until eventually I bumped, almost literally, into some other people that I knew. They were just getting ready to leave for a night club in Hoddesdon. I should say here that Hoddesdon isn't exactly renowned for it’s night life, in fact it isn’t really renowned for anything, except perhaps for having more zimmer frames per capita than any other town in Hertfordshire. But what the hey, it seemed like a very good idea at the time.

I’m always a little bit apprehensive about provincial night clubs. The people there seem to try just a little too hard? The dress sense in most London clubs is relaxed, everyone there probably spends the entire week in business clothes be they men or women, so the weekend is an opportunity to relax and dress down. In Hoddesdon it’s completely the opposite. But it was fine, it was good, the people were friendly and the doorman gave my jeans only a cursory glance before nodding me in.

I admit to be a bit of a nomad in places like these. I find it difficult to stay with my group for the entire night and tend to toddle off on my own for long spells. On one of these little forays I got to talking to a young lady by the bar. We laughed and joked and shared a drink, and danced (for my part badly - I do a good impression of a washing machine on a spin cycle, even when both knees are working properly), and then we laughed and joked and drank some more.

I thought it was going rather well actually, look at me everybody, I’m a babe magnet, we were getting on like a house on fire. We moved to a quieter corner, and she leaned in and said “you know, I really do enjoy the company of gay men, it’s so non threatening if you know what I mean, so nice to just have fun….”. Well, my head was bobbing up and down, and I laughed as I nodded in agreement…

…when I realised she meant me.

Oh poo.