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Friday Night and Wednesday Morning

It was still early (8.30ish) on Friday night and my friend Julia and I were about to leave the Centurian Bar near the railway station in Newcastle when a male voice called to me; "Nice jeans, what make are they?"

Stunned; I stopped in my tracks and fingered the spangly logo on the back pocket. "Victoria Beckham," I replied as I looked up to see the voice belonged to a chubby thuggish looking bloke wearing a peach coloured CP Company polo shirt, "Why?"

"They make your arse look bloody sexy!" He shouted and his boisterous friends all laughed out loud as I blushed and stuck my tongue out.

He smiled and raised his glass as I left the bar with a little spring in my step.

"The cheeky bugger!" Julia giggled as she curled her arm inside mine and we crossed the road towards the Union Rooms.

"I know; but I can't remember the last time somebody gave me a compliment and meant it." I sighed as we queued to get into the next pub.

...

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