I’m really too tired to write much on this post … infact I should just forget it and go to bed … however it would seem I’m somewhat blog-addicted AND I’ve just had an experience which I just have to bung down before visiting the much-needed ‘Land of Nod’.
Before I start, I should point out that I’ve been doing this job all around the World for quite some time …
And over those many years, I’ve been lucky[?] enough to have been exposed to a plethora of the weird and wonderful – quite often thanks to some advertising function or other.
I’ve been to parties that ended in fights, seen illegal – not to mention, disturbing – acts of gluttony and fornication, watched relationships start and marriages end … you name it, my eyes probably have a memory of it , however tonight I had one of the weirdest experiences I’ve had in a very, very, very long time.
I am a simple bloke from Nottingham … I have little dress sense, swear like a trooper, don’t suffer fools that gladly and like food rather than nouveau cuisine.
However, everytime – and I mean EVERYTIME – I come to Bangkok, I somehow always end up in this unbelievably wanky bar/restaurant called The Supperclub.
I don’t want to go … I hate it there … however time and time again, I always end up getting taken there, because either ….
1 My client likes it there
2 My client thinks I’d like it there
3 My client thinks that’s the sort of place advertising types like
4 A function is there
5 The people organising the function like it there
6 The people organising the function thinks that’s the sort of place advertising types like
… anyway I am sure you get the gist.
As I said, I fucking HATE the place … it’s all so bloody pretentious … from the beds instead of booths [try eating your grub lounged on a bed while 2000 decibels of crap music is blaring out of the speakers] and the transvestites instead of waitresses, right through to the vastly overpriced ‘sausage & mash’ and the employees wearing t-shirts with their job titles on the front.
Anyway, the function I am at decided to take everyone there for a ‘end-of-conference’ slap up … and whilst I despised every second of being there, two things happened that I just have to write about.
Mouth. Meet Foot
So I’m sat next to this bloke who was nice – if not abit boring – when I overheard him say this woman’s name. I clarified who he was talking about – and amazingly – it was the same person.
“How do you know her?” he asked.
To which I replied in great detail how she used to bang my old housemate back in Sydney.
“Oh, I met him … “ he replied, “… but the cheeky woman told me he was an old friend. not an old boyfriend”
I laughed, commented that she did have abit of a history and then casually enquired how he knew the lady in question …
“Oh, she’s my wife.”
The conversation ended quite abruptly after that … but at least I didn’t tell him how I knew she’d been banging some other bloke too! See, I can be nice and tactful. Occasionally.
The Most Pretentious Act Of All Pretentious Acts
OK, so it was an advertising function … and OK, some of the participants were rather new to the industry … and OK, adland – as I wrote above – does have a history of being abit of a wankfest, but no one …. not even Jesus Christ himself … could think of a way to justify the manner in which the dinner menu was presented to the participants tonight.
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls … I leave you with, UBER_Pretension.
Have a good weekend … I think I am going to have to have a shower before sleep, because this last experience has left me feeling rather dirty.
I guess you can take the boy out of Nottingham but you can’t take Nottingham out of the boy – and I am eternally grateful for that fact, ha!