Pride and the inevitable fall

well, there we have it.

Having lost all this extra tonnage, I was convinced that men were dying for want of me and women were envious of me. That really, all I needed to do to click with a bloke, was to glance, coquettishly, in his general direction and he would, literally, come running.

Not so much if Saturday night was anything to go by.

Was down at the Spiegeltent, formally a rich and verdant harvesting ground for my good self, but nary a sniff of action. I hate to say it, but indifference met my every attempt. Well my two attempts. I did still have some pride left at that point.

Went to Eden afterwards for late dinner and out of desperation flirted with the bus boy who I think may have been too terrified - or at least had one eye on the tip - not to respond. Which he did with mixture of shyness and reluctance. I think he was trembling when he cleared the plates. And not from pent up desire I fear. Possibly more from fear itself. Or indignance that he was being subjected to the leery glare of a clearly inebriated, vaguely randy older woman.

Dignity is definitely dead. In fact, you can probably smell its rotting corpse from wherever you are.