Abar 6 weeks ago, I was on a train from Liverpool Street to Stratford, where I live. (Yano the Olympic place? That's Stratford. State o' me livin there ay? Far cry from me terraced house with me mum an dad!)...Anyway, I was sat in a carriage all to meself, an lad gets on an goes "Wow. 22nd of January, and already I've broken my New Years Resolution......" Now this was deffo the beginning of a chat up line. I ignored 'im an carried on eatin me Seaweed Peanut Crackers from Tesco. (If ya haven't 'ad 'em before, deffo get some, they sound proper vile but they're better for ya than Galaxy). He waited for me to respond, and when I didn't, he went "Wow, just gona ignore me.....Sorry I'm bein annoying". A few minutes later, he looked at me an went "So have you had a good night?" Blanked. "Okay, there's no need to go silent.." By now, I'm textin me bezzie lad mate getting him to phone me. I answered the phone, told him I loved him and couldn't wait to get to Stratford to meet him and his 4 best mates who were all UFC fighters, got up and walked away. Now, that occasion, I kept my cool. Thinkin back I should have asked him who the fuck he was talkin' to, and I was quite happy on me own until he got on an started "chattin breeze". Cheeky bastard.
A couple of nights later, same place, same train. These 2 young lads got on. Faces only a mother could love. The big muscled blonde started eyein me up and his dark haired mate started whispering to him. They're eyes were burnin a hole, swear down. The blonde kept talking shit whilst looking at me, seeing if he was getting any of my attention. He was in for some disappointment. Talkin about goin to Fabric an his new job as a builder, trying desperately to get a glimpse from me. Then, some gorj City Man got on and sat by me. The gimpy blonde little melt was fumin. Saw me eyein up the competition, and proceeded to tell his bezzie about all the weights he was doin'. Honest t'God, what a little blert. The City man began to fall asleep with his iPhone 5s in his hand so I woke him up. "Don't fall asleep with that in your hand, you'll get it nicked." I said nudging him gently. He opened his eyes, winked, smiled and thanked me. You should have seen the face on Johnny Bravo. GUTTED. I was in love.
But that's not all! I attract ALL the weirdos. Including a 50 year old drunk Nigerian Man who claimed he was a King in his country with "so much pussy". He called me a "Motherfucker" all across the Northbound Jubilee. I assured him and everyone else on the carriage that I had maybe fucked a few dads in me time, but never a Mother, to which everyone laughed.
Now in Liverpool, you have two different types of fella. Ones with money and a job, and ones without either.
I've been here a year and I've found in London, there are different types. Let me guide yas through them ay?
- Cockney Geezers- They think they're Danny Dyer. Support West Ham/Arsenal....call you "babe". They have the same group of mates they've had since school and they go to Ibiza or Thailand on holiday every summer. They get round you by using their "Swagger" and "Charm". They teach you Rhyming Slang and walk funny. Like they've got uncomfortable gential warts. You can usually find them in their local "Battle Cruiser" in Barking, Brentwood, Clapham or Canning Town talking Tits, Footie and more Tits. Gorj, but trouble.
- Mediahhh Guys- I dated someone last yeah who worked for a TV Production Company. The bullshit he would sprout about who he had met through his job. Dropping names quicker than I drop sluts of a Saturday Night. Little Mix, Olly Murs, and other nonsensical celebs I couldn't give a fuck about. They normally jump on 5 Minute Fads, New Apps, and faff around Soho in a Hybrid Car. When they list their conquests, they include getting stared at by "The Blonde one out of Hollyoaks at The Soap Awards." Prey on niave girls who will believe anything they say.
- City Boys- Usually an Office Junior from Ilford, Essex. Early 20s, suit from Zara, an' hair in a quiff. Millin around Liverpool Street of a Friday Night chattin up Hipster Models with long blonde hair, black roots, denim shorts and a Boy London Beanie. They tend to meet their mates and drink around Spitalfields. A couple of them have approached me in the past whilst I've been wanderin to the last train and tried their look. I can safely say they have never been successful.
- City Men- 28+. Designer suit, watch and scent. Now these fellas 'ave got money. If ya go round Canary Wharf or The City on the last Friday afternoon of the month, you will see them gradually goin' to bars from about 4pm, waiting to chat to a girl they can buy champagne for, then maybe sleep with. Briefcase, loosened tie, and tongue to match. Some of them are married, but it doesn't stop them trying. Sayin' that though, the married ones are usually the ones asleep on the train with nothing but a greasy Maccies an a copy of The Evening Standard. It's not exactly The Wolf Man Of Wall Street like, but the majority of them are decent.
- Musicians- Anyone who is over the age of 21 and says they're in a band, SWERVE. Loser. Usually means working in a Coffee Shop on Brick Lane or behind a bar in Dalston, clinging on to the band he had always wanted to be in since the age of 12. They sleep around, carry disease and will go on about the "heart to heart I had with Foxes/Carl Barat/Him out of that band" 3 years ago at a pub in Angel". Sports a moustache, skinny jeans and Toms. Serious slags. Keep away.
Tra xoxoxoxo
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