Growler!

Evening gents.

I've had an interesting week. Firstly, the managing director has been staying in my second bedroom. I thought it was going to be like living with a really awkward new flat mate. Secondly, Wednesday night was the only night I had that I wasn't absolutely off my tits.

Went up to New York last Tuesday on business. Took our client to one of the best restaurants I've ever been to. An amusing anecdote from this? She was talking about how her firm, that's just been taken over by a Swiss firm has changed, and how they now expect the women workers to only travel if their husbands allow (fair point?) This is a fairly awkward conversation with a client. This is a really fucking awkward conversation when you're the only bloke at dinner with 4 women, one of whom is pregnant. This led me to drinking...heavily. After sinking a bottle of red each, we got back to our hotel, where my friend Jaron was waiting for me. Head up to the roof top bar overlooking the empire state building. My two colleagues make there excuses-we had a 6am start to do some interviews, it's 11:30 and I'm not exactly sober. We are on expenses. Gin and tonics? Yes please. There was some decent growl in this place, and I had a hotel room downstairs. Get a phone call off my boss who I've been noshing, telling me to head over to hers, 10 blocks away. A decent option perhaps. This is why drink isn't my friend. In stead of going to bed at 11:30 like I should of, I wondered over to hers (too cheap to take a taxi) for around 12:30, shag her for an hour (LAD), and then have to wake up at 4:30 so that I can get into my hotel, before my colleagues are downstairs in the lobby. Why I didn't tell her to come to mine, I have no clue. Maybe because she makes double my wage, sets me work and is doing my review in 3 months.

I'm so tired and hungover when it comes to the interviews the next day, we are sitting behind one way glass in a darkened room, on really comfortable chairs. The inevitable happened. The guy they bring along to learn about consultancy, take minutes and fetch coffee falls asleep in front of a senior manager, someone 2 levels above him, and a client. Brilliant. I'd do anything for this blog (more on this later). The interviews finish at 7 and I get the train back and get in at 11. Surprisingly, my new room mate isn't in. I hear him stumble in 2 hours later, hammered. 48 year old, Scottish managing director LAD.

Thursday comes, rugby training happens, but gets called off half way through due to the biggest thunderstorm I've ever seen. Chatting to some of the guys, they're all heading out Saturday night after training. Brilliant.

Get back, my new room mate is preparing himself for the night. Really psyching himself up to get pissed. My theory is that he goes on these business trips once every 6 weeks to get hammered away from his wife and kids. What happens next in the evening is odd.

I'm going to get dinner and have a few beers, do you care to join me Peter? I'll expense it out.

Free dinner and beer? Honestly, I can't think of a time I'd say no.

Off we pop down to one of the bars. Over dinner, he tells me a few stories about him getting hammered. He explains that him and his group of friends from Uni, made up of people that are currently presidents of companies, managing directors, head teachers, and small business owners always have a holiday together. A group of 9 of them, not everyone always makes it, but there's always at least 6 that can get away from wives and kids. Last year they went to Octoberfest and drank until they couldn't take it. All the while I'm thinking that when all of us are making £200K+ a year when were all dads we are doing this. 'I'm a 22 year old stuck in a 48 year olds body, Peter'. Aside from this sounding remarkably like a mid life crisis, I respect him so much. He's a chancer, the ultimate 'yes man' who chatted his way to the top. He tells me I need to get stuck into as many American girls as possible whilst I'm here. Yes, I will.

Thursday night is 'cougar night' when all the 35-50 year old divorced rich, fit older women come out. Me and my new best friend are standing there chatting to a couple of them. The one looks me up and down and says 'you're absolutely gorgeous' (cheers boys) I know a great girl for you, let me take your number, and I'll give it to her.

'How about I have your number?'
'My husband's in there'
'But your taking mine!'
'I'll give you a missed call'

Boom. Number time. I bet my managing director he can't get a woman's number. Being the ultimate good looking older bloke, he struts up to one, chats to her, gets out his blackberry. He walks back over, 'she didn't want me to have it'. Unbelievable, I thought he was better than that. We chat to a few more guys around the bar, tell everyone how much better rugby is than football and start chatting to this hippie called Ray. Looks a bit like a rockstar, but obviously poor. Came out with a classic line: 'women and I have a great relationship-I look at them, and they don't look back, it suits me just fine'. Ouch Ray. Ray tells us about the cook up brunch he's having on Sunday and invites to join. My managing driector tells him he's not around. Looks at me, smiles, and says: "but I'm sure Peter would love come" I have no excuses. I take Ray's number, with the intention not to ring him or go. But that wouldn't make a great blog though, would it?

Next bar, he bets me I can't talk to some girls, I do, I crash and burn as I'm 8 pints and 4 gins deep and keep saying 'England' over and over apparently. It's now 2am. He tells me we aren't done, and he knows somewhere we can get a drink. He comes every time he's in town. It's a private members club, and he's paid the $70 lifetime membership fee. It's fucking seedy. We have another pint, and walk home chatting about how great we are, and how he's interviewing over the phone for a new director at 7am.

I feel shit Friday. Really awful. What really brightens up my day is an email I had from my MD at 11:09pm the night before. Nothing in it, apart from a phone number. That cheeky swine, getting his blackberry out to email it to me.. I'm definitely going to be doing this when I'm someone's boss.

It's bank holiday weekend, so we get work lunch out, and the option (if we've finished working) to leave at 3. Service was so bad at lunch, it took 2 hours, and I obviously left at 3:01. Come home and pass out on the couch. Ben (the MD) gets back a couple hours later, complaining of a migraine, and how we'll go out for food and a few drinks, but he'll drive as his family is flying into New York at mid day the next day. Fair enough. We watch the hangover before heading out. I think this gets Ben in the mood. Get into town, and he tests the water with a G and T. So do I. 2 hours later, we're 5 or 6 G and Ts deep. It's 10:30, so Ben says to me he's giving himself a midnight curfew. I tease him about being a shit lad and he can't handle it. It turns out we are very similar. We sink some cocktails and head on. Starting chatting to a woman who's come out with just her son's girlfriend. Weird. And they're rank. Ben turns to me and says 'you could have fun with that one' and winks. By 1:30 he looks at his watch, hammered and says: 'oh fuck I missed my curfew' 'Do you want to go home?' 'No I've just loaded up the jukebox'. We dance to the smiths and some other classics from before I was born until 2.

I have rugby the next day at 11. I get up at 10, find Ben in his pants saying he should have left an hour ago, and the one thing his wife said before he left is that he can't get hammered the night before he picks them up as he has to drive to New York to get them, then drive 5 hours to Washington for the bank holiday. He's absolutely hanging, searching for his car keys. When I left for rugby at 10:40, he was just about ready to walk out the door.

In the 25 degree heat, approaching 100% humidity and with a terrible hangover, Rugby was not fun. It was also one of the hardest training sessions I've been to in a long time. Chatting to a couple of the guys, one guy, Steve, turns out lived near Sydney for a bit, nice guy. Our conversation revolved around Aussie girls. Agree to meet him in the bar in town I'd been at until 2 the previous night at 3 in the afternoon. The barmen were all laughing at me for being back there, but one of them has promised to take me pheasant shooting whilst I'm here, which should be good. Have 6 or so $6 beers and a couple shots over the course of the afternoon. I was dreading my bill as the whiskey we were shotting were $8 each. They serve them in double shots. They were really getting to me. He charged me $21 all together. Unbelievable. I have made it my official watering station. The guy from rugby I met up told me he was going to a bbq then a house party and invited me. I wasn't doing anything else! It's for the blog.

Turn up to this bbq. I felt awkward anyway, not knowing the host and Steve not telling him I'm coming. Add to this that I'm pissed, haven't brought any booze, and start off by chatting to his wife. Bring them round to the idea of me eating their food, and they were very pleasant people. At one point, I got offered a cigar. Looked around, all the other men sitting on the porch were smoking one. I had to. Tried to light it. Realised I hadn't cut the end off. Schoolboy. Start chatting to this guy about shooting, he tells me he owns a shotgun. He runs home across the road to get it. He lets me hold it (not loaded). At this point I realise I'm sitting on a porch in the heat, smoking a cigar, drinking a bud and holding a shotgun. The one moment in my life I can officially call myself 'redneck'. Steve's bird swings by in her truck to take us to this party. Turn up, smashed, around 11pm. Steve's bird leaves. Walk in, there are about 15 people there playing on a swing attached to a tree, playing beer pong and drinking out of red cups from a keg! Steve and I survey the scene. Eye up a couple of good looking girls (7s). I send the accent in. I tell him I want the tall blonde, who looks similar, but perhaps better than my mate Jack's bird-Cuntface. (I honestly do like Cuntface, but have always questioned her opinion on me)

Chat to her for a bit, and get her to be on my side in beer pong. Steve takes the other one on his team. We finish playing and go sit down with them. Turns out my bird isn't drinking! Cock! The one Steve's taken on is now sitting on his knee. It is this moment in time Steve's girlfriend walks in. Amazingly awkward. They break up in front of everyone. This doesn't stop Steve and says to the girl he's got on his knee: 'I'm just going to fuck you in stead' What great balls Steve has. It works, an hour later-around 3am they are in one of the bedrooms fucking. I've been pulling this sober blonde girl. Take her round the back in the garden and starting pulling her more. I consider sticking a digit. I think that she'll never go for it, so decide not to try. Then I also remember I'm Peter Hunter and I have a blog to write. So I stick a finger in her. She doesn't particularly warm to it, but doesn't stop it. She tells me she's driving home, and I ask for a lift. Jackpot. Get back to mine and we're pulling in her car. Obviously ask her 23 times if she wants to come up. I even said: 'come up and I'll growl you out'. What person would say no? Granted, she didn't get it. She apparently has to be up early (so why is she out until 4:30am?) so drives off. I get her number, so will text her in due course. I've decided I'm more about playing a slightly longer game anyway than one nights, although they're great.

Get into my flat, and decide to ring Ray about brunch in the morning. He was happy to hear from me. Tells me the location and says I need to be there at 10. It's about 30 mins away. Encouraged by Ray's desire to speak to me, I also ring the fit older woman, she, unfortunately, doesn't pick up. Probably because she's in bed with her husband. I obviously leave a message. I obviously can't remember it, and I obviously haven't heard a thing yet. I pass out, wake up at 11. 2 missed calls from Ray. I don't ring him back.

As it's bank holiday Sunday, I have to get pissed. All the rugby guys are on a boat trip, so with no one to get drunk with I consider my options-bird from last night? Boss? My own?

I shamelessly go for my boss. She comes over, we have a bottle of wine, some coronas and half a bottle of gin. Head out to the I bar I'd been at all day the day before and drink about $60 worth of booze. Amazingly I get charged $10. Am now the most drunk I've been all week and my boss and I take 1.5 hours to do the 10 minute walk. Have to take breaks to throw up every 20 minutes. Get back and pass out before anything decent happens.

Have spent all of today shagging, but also in a world of pain. I ache from head to toe. I don't think I'll be drinking for a while. At least until I take this girl out for a drink some point this week, probably Thursday, given the volume of older women.

There are 2 things I've learnt from this week:1) when I'm 48, if I can take 22 year olds out on expenses of the company I run, I will be in a good place. 2) Americans are very outgoing and have a 'why not' attitude, this is exactly the attitude I need to adopt to get anything worth writing about on America Bosh.

Happy hunting

Peter.