No Heart at Soul Bar

The time was 2.15am, I was blind drunk and desperate. So much so I was even weighing up inviting the barman’s cleaning mop back to mine.

I’d been putting in a fair bit of Gary groundwork with a local girl, I think her name was Samantha. We shared some mediocre banter and danced for a little while before her friend revealed to me that Samantha is recently single. (Read more)

Could of been Russian Wife

Cannes is a seaside city on the French Rivera. Every year it is home to the world’s largest congregation of creative folk whose agencies battle it out for the communication industries prestigious Cannes Lions awards.

Along with the long walks and awkward speeches comes bragging rights, and not just for the silver wear, companies and agencies host the most ridiculous parties held on beaches, in villas and on boats combined with a seemingly unlimited supply of upmarket booze.

Being a participant of Cannes Lions meant I could schmooze my way into parties. The first event I crashed was aptly titled “One hell of a party”.

Although a blur, I recall finishing One Hell of a Party and winding up at a famous bar in Cannes known as the Gutter Bar. You can only imagine the type of personal that rock up here just prior to calling it a night.

As I staggered in, I looked around through my highly-affected beer goggles and spotted one of the cutest girls I’ve ever seen. Her height was equal with my goggles, her brown hair was beautifully flicked across to one side and her bright dress complimented all of her features.

Before asking if she’d like to get married I thought it was necessary to put in some ground work. I noticed she was wearing the same party wristband as me so I cleverly asked “are you having one hell of a night?”. She grabbed my hand and we started to do some kind of Waltz, she gazed deep into my eyes and replied with a thick Russian accent “ofvvv course”.

Although everything for that moment was perfect, I thought we were moving too fast, so I offered to buy her a drink.

We repeated the Gin & Tonic then ball room dance process 4 times. At 13.50€ a pop, thank god I was going to marry this girl.

I started trying to make our Waltz a little more promiscuous, when, out the corner of my alcohol affected eyes came quite a large man yelling “no no no, she has a husband”.

Yep, you heard right. The woman of my dreams, already married.

With my head in the gutter, a broken heart and a very empty wallet, I realised that I would have been far better off simply mail ordering a Russian girl.