The Archive

Bianca Jones

On the first night in New York, we were scheduled to meet up with a friend of Adam’s in a bar in Greenwich village.

So off we trotted, ready for a few light ales and a chat.

Adam’s friend was a lovely guy, interesting to talk to and interested in what we had to say.

Sadly, I didn’t stay too long because I was a bit tired (remember the 6 hour drive) and went home. However, I’m assured that the others had a jolly good time.

One way I know this is because Dump reported back to me “I was just getting out of a cab and a lovely young woman gave me a nice smile. I smiled back with all the charm I could muster and she grinned and gave me her card. ‘Call me’ she said.”

I was impressed. He went on.

“And then I looked at the card and it said ‘Bianca Jones – masseuse’.”

Good work Dumpy, you’ve pulled a hooker.

And there’s more.

Wig and Adam got back to the hotel in a state of some excitement. In fact, it seemed the logical thing to do to play Aids Wolf songs and high volume and jump up and down on the bed shouting ‘Al Sadr’ and other niceties.

Then there was a knock on the door.

“Security.”

Wig opens up.

The security guard looks at Wig. “We’ve had some complaints about noise coming from the room.”

Then he looks right past Wig at Adam and asks “Are you alright sir?”

I still think he should have claimed to have been kidnapped.

Oh, and remember Adam’s friend?

It was only the next day that we learned that he owns a very successful business, has a job he really, really enjoys, owns a nice house which he lives in with his beautiful wife, and has a baby on the way.

If only we’d known in advance we could have hated him when we met him. Retrospective dislike just isn’t the same is it?

posted by Peter The Great @ 4:09 PM