Sad and bouji – Part II

The next day, as my friend and I lay in bed drinking never-ending pints of water and watching dreadful television programmes, my phone became a hot bed of fun!

I replied to the footballer, and I was very funny. It was wasted on him of course, and one of his responses consisted at one point of just four sunshine emojis. Was it even sunny? I didn’t know as I was in bed with the curtains closed. But still, I did not ask for a weather update, nor did I require one.

This reminded me of when some screwed up little pop star sent me four Christmas tree emojis back in November. And I ended up blocking him.

But, actually the footballer was being pretty cute once I’d finished laughing at his idiocy.

Then I decided to investigate the club owner further. I texted.

As it turns out, he doesn’t mess around. He invited me out that night almost instantly, but the problem was that neither my friend or I could remember what he looked like or, actually anything about him at all. Was he funny? Nice? Unclear.

The only crumb of comfort was that he couldn’t date rape me or throw my corpse in the Thames because he knew I knew people at the club and all roads would lead back to him if I went missing. So I was like: “Fck it I’ll go out.”

I had no other plans.

I somehow managed to get myself ready. Copious amounts of eye drops were needed for this to happen, and what with it being a Saturday, I dressed down. Always dress down when everyone else dresses up.

Strange Arab

And then off I went to meet a guy I had no recollection of. This is fine.

I arrived first, which was good because it meant he had to try to find me. The chances of me picking him out in a line up were hanging just below the zero line.

Then some weird dude sat down in front of me and started saying hi and other stuff. I think it was him. On first viewing I was like: “Oh dear I’ve really fcked up here.”

But once he sat down and put his hair back he looked like a bit less of a mess. He was alright, kinda cute. I couldn’t peep the body but the forearms seemed decent. So conversation began, and he lives in LA, so I asked what he did with his time. He replied he likes coffee shops. Then I got up and left.

Or at least that’s would should have happened, but instead I just mocked him for it. Then he said: “I’m also a sports agent.”

Ok cool Jerry Maguire.

So in front of me I had Arab Maguire who part owns a braggy London nightclub. Then when I didn’t think it could get much worse, he went a step further.

Maguire: “I’m also gonna be in a movie.”

LIG: “Oh yeah? What a speaking part?”

Maguire: “Yeah well a main part actually, I’m in it with Al Pacino.”

Oh fck off Maguire…

So apparently he’s going to be in a film that hasn’t started filming, and nor does he know when it will start filming. But he’s in it and it’s because he’s friends with the producer, who was also a producer on “that film with blue cartoons that aren’t like cartoons”

LIG: “Sorry, do you mean Avatar?”

Maguire: “Yeah that one.”

I’ve by this time decided that this guy is a pathological liar and sociopath. I mean I’ve heard some shit in my life but this is actually pretty good.

I thought about calling bullshit there and then, but then I thought: “What if he ends up falling in love with me and a year or so down the line, and halfway through the proposal, I went: “Yeah can I just stop you there, whatever happened to your massive movie project??””

That seemed more fun to me.

I can’t work out really if it’s true or not, I mean, it’s just not a very feasible lie is it? SO maybe it’s true.

Oh and also, he’s Batman.


I texted my friend to say: “Ok so this guy owns some of the club, he’s a sports agent, he’s gonna be in a movie with Al Pacino, and also he’s Batman. But like the real Batman not movie Batman.”

My friend loved this, until I told them I had made up the Batman bit.

Then they were just a whole load of disappointed.

I was like: “I don’t think he’s gonna kill me, but I think he might be a pathological liar. He’s now taking me to the club just so you know where I am.”

So he bought all the drinks at the bar but when we get outside to head towards his crappy club he was like: “Can you order an Uber?”

Erm no? You order it. Prick.

I don’t mind spending money, that’s fine. But I also don’t own a west end nightclub. If I did it would be Uber’s all round for everyone. I’d be like the Milky Bar Kid but with vehicles.

So why, pray tell, am I getting the car? You fckin do it. So I asked him this, in a less aggressive manner and he said some shit about not having Uber and loads of other shit that was basically a whole lot of shit.

But then, turning up at the club with the owner/sports agent/imaginary actor with Al Pacino/Batman is hella chic. You get let in without a single person looking at you or questioning you, your glass is never ever empty, and you can go to all the roped off bits of the club you’re never ever allowed in normally.

This night there was a ton of footballers, but like good ones who are still playing and don’t sit on the benches. They were dropping serious commas, I mean about 20 bottles of Cristal or Dom every 25 minutes. I decided not to let them speak to me as I was with the owner. Which was a shame, a shame for them.

We hung out a bit more and then he asked me to go back to his. But, in keeping with the pathological lies of the night, I replied with: “Oh I’m really not that kind of girl…”

Amazingly he bought that bullshit and escorted me to my waiting Uber (which I ordered and paid for).

Then I spoke at the Uber driver for the whole journey home before giving him my phone number too. I’m not sure if I know why, well, I do, it’s because he asked and I was drunk and happy to oblige. It was a waste of time really since I’ve been airing the never-ending WhatsApps from him ever since.

I woke up the next day and texted the footballer. I amped up the chat to mild sexting, which was fun.

Hopefully I’ll be seeing him this weekend.

And the club owner is being super sweet but I’m confused by his stories. Can’t he just work in oil like all the other rich Arabs?

To conclude:

I shouldn’t be allowed out alone.

I shouldn’t have to pay for Ubers.

I’m in love with the footballer.

I’m confused by the club owner.

I’ll probably never speak to either of them again. Especially if they ever find this blog and work out it’s me. But, as one of them is mentally challenged I’ll be ok there. The other one, however, is Batman, so it’s possible he will find it.

But hey, what you gonna do?