Chapter 14 – Squatting in front of Mark Owen

Not long after we are seated I spot MARK OWEN – from TAKE THAT! Now this may mean nothing to you dear reader, but when I was 12 years of age I loved Mark Owen with all of my soppy young heart … and he was right here, within spitting distance, chatting easily with a friend over a pint.

“STEPHEN, Stephen, Stephen!!!” I hiss under my breath while tugging his shirt “Look, look, look there’s MARK OWEN!!”

“What? ah oh yeah” Stephen replies non-plussed. He meets artists and celebrities all the time, he thinks nothing of the sweet-faced heartthrob in our midst.

I don’t recognise my voice, it has leaped up an octave. I cough and regain the ability to speak “Ooh sorry, don’t know what happened there, Hi!” and I squat down next to him so I am at his level. I then realise that was a very bad move, because getting up again is not going to be easy.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you Mark … it’s just that, well I’m here with my lawyer” I wave absently in the direction of Stephen, who, if he had any sense would be hiding behind the sofa at this point. “an’ I saw you, and I just had to come and say hello cos … well, I used to really really love you Maaark … I used to snog your records an’ everything!” I laugh, playfully slapping his knee a bit too hard.

OH THE SHAME! WHAT AM I SAYING? the words are leaving my lips before my brain can intervene. Mark Owen, the sweetie he is, merely replies to the half-cut cooing girl squatting at his feet with a bashful “Aw thanks very much.” I continue to sit beaming at him then I continue with  “New album going well is it?” … I don’t know what I’m talking about, I have no idea if he is recording a new album or not.

“Um, no I’m not recording anything at the moment … maybe soon though” I sense this meeting is coming to an end so I start to attempt to hoist myself up as gracefully as I can, which isn’t that graceful, and Mark Owen has to help me to my feet. “I’m signing to Sony myself soon … ” I can hear myself slurring.

“Really? ah that’s great!” He doesn’t believe me … but I’m not surprised. He thinks I’m mental. I hug Mark Owen goodbye, for a bit longer than necessary and I stumble back to Stephen.

Stephen is laughing heartily to himself as I flop down next to him. He found the whole scene highly amusing. “OK, as much as I’d like to see what other entertaining encounters you chance upon this evening I have to get home, are you going to be OK getting back? it’s getting late you know”

“Yea, yea I’m fine, I’m a big girl!” I wave him away and Stephen heads home. He was right, it was getting late and I needed to get home, but I was oblivious to both these facts since I was now too far gone. I’ve never been a big drinker, with the exception of being a student of course (and everyone knows that most students are borderline alcoholics) but when I do drink, after a certain point it just doesn’t occur to me to stop until I fall down. I wish it did; it would have saved me lots of cab rides with carrier bags hooked over the tops of my ears.  So instead of heading home, I wander through Soho and find my myself in a seedy bar down a random backstreet. The music is pumping and there are lots of scantily dressed men milling around … I eventually realise it was a gay bar.

I’ve always felt at ease in gay bars, as you can enjoy dancing without getting hassle from leery, overbearing guys – however, I have in the past, had a few run in’s with some double-hard lesbians who didn’t always take kindly to a straight lass being in a gay club … one in particular told me if I wasn’t going to have a ‘mess with Vanessa’ I’d better get out. My lesson was learned, so I keep my eyes peeled. I down another JD and coke, and have a twirl on the dance floor with a lovely couple who introduced themselves as Naughty Nigel and Big Bad Brian. After we exhaust the conga, we have a brief rest and a ciggie; during which I realise I have 13 missed calls from my boyfriend Andy. I run outside, eager to tell him all about my day …

“Jode, are you OK?? where the hell are you? you were meant to be home hours ago!”

“Oooh Andeee I love youuuu!! I’m a rittle bit drunk … I’m in Soho doing the conga with Nigel an’ Big Bad Brian … ANDEEE you should come to London and come dancin’ wiv us?? Oh they’d LOVE you …”

“Jode! What are doing shitfaced in Soho on your own!? You need to run … you’re going to miss the last train!!”

This sobers me up somewhat.  I say my goodbyes to Naughty Nigel and Big Bad Brian, and run to the tube as fast as I can. I make it home, and spend the following day with a carrier bags hooked over the tops of my ears.