Monday, 4 December 2006

Saturday Night Man

These days I don't get out as much as I used to. I mean, I go to the pub, I play football, I eat out but I don't go out out. When it gets to about 11pm I want to go home. Going to a club means extreme drunkenness and, unless someone is driving, an expensive cab ride home. Or an uncomfortable night on a friend’s sofa followed by public transport home the next morning wearing the clothes I danced and slept in. It also means that the next day is a write-off. I used to enjoy the extreme drunkenness but it is unacceptable for someone of my age to curl up in a dark corner when it’s all got a bit much.

This Saturday just gone I braved it in honour of a friend’s birthday and I’m glad I did as I had a good time. Also, since most of our party were women, I got a real insight into the mating rituals of Saturday Night Man. This species has been around since time immemorial and is believed to have remained impervious to evolution, preferring to use crude physical movements to communicate and possessing only a rudimentary grasp of language. Another trait is an admirable persistence in the face of indifference or even hostility. The Discovery Channel probably has a programme on right now featuring animals showing a more sophisticated mating ritual than the ones I saw on Saturday.

But if, as already outlined, this approach has indeed remained unchanged for millennia then there must be a reason for this and I can only conclude that this is because it works. Not every time, of course. It didn’t work on Saturday for any of the many men that tried their luck with the women I was with. Maybe their advances were particularly unrefined, maybe they just need a little extra practice or maybe they were aiming a little too high. Does a lion give up if a tasty looking gazelle gets away from it? No, it continues to try until it succeeds in catching its prey. Or dies of hunger. The point is that Saturday Night Man will continue to use his trusted approach as he knows that it will work eventually.

Some women have developed a fine turn of phrase to deal with unwanted suitors. One man was sent whimpering into a corner with the line “You look like Dean Gaffney's uglier brother”. I think I would have run home crying and locked myself in my bedroom for months if I’d received that comment. Which brings me to the real reason for this snooty appraisal of my fellow man – I respect them and am quite jealous of their resilience and know that, even if I were so inclined, I wouldn’t be able to compete with them. I don't have the front, the cojones, whatever you want to call it. These men are warriors. They don't think, they trust their instincts and act. Saturday Night Man, I salute you.

No comments: