epsiode 22

PPBE (Perfect post break-up evening)

My break-up was old news really, even to me, however when a friend of mine called me in tears to say that her boyfriend had finished their relationship, it was too easy to remember how absolutely awful it was. We immediately rallied, because although deep down you know nothing will make her feel better, or cure her, it's the way we distract our friends in the immediately aftermath of a break-up that is really important. There are probably three main stages.
Stage one: Rush round to her place with a large box of tissues, copious amounts of wine and chocolate, let the word 'bastard' come out of her/your mouth on a loop and prepare to hide her mobile phone and put her to bed when she finally passes out. N.b. depending on the severity of the heartbreak wine can be substituted with Tequila and a good hiding place for the phone is the bottom of a laundry basket. This stage can last for longer than one night, oh and you might have a fight on your hands over the mobile phone so be prepared to stand your ground.
Stage two: Encourage/book a pampering trip. Persuading her to get her hair done is always a good idea. Or, anything else that will make her feel better about herself. It is also a good opportunity for her to moan to a stranger. Which can be better than therapy, because you come out looking better as well.
Stage three: Little black dress, killer heels, bright red lipstick. Take her out for the night, and even if she's not ready to go on the rebound she needs physical proof that there are men in the world. So, therefore you have to be careful where you take her.

My first venue of choice for stage three was the Charlotte Street Hotel in Soho. There is one simple reason for this; the bar staff are so incredibly good-looking that you can't help but feel as if you're in a better place than the normal world, as you walk through the door. It's the sort of place I would live in if I could.
Anyway, my friend reluctantly agreed to a night out, I think mainly because she'd lost too many brain cells with the tequila (it was a long stage one), that she couldn't argue. So, myself and another friend hauled her there on Friday night.
She'd had her hair done (courtesy of stage two), and she looked great; we told her so repeatedly and I think she might have been almost ready to believe us.
My other friend ordered champagne, which was sort of crucial in stage three and although we both knew that we wouldn't be able to eat for the rest of the month, it was a sacrifice that would be worth it. And it was, just to see her smile for the first time. As gorgeous guy after gorgeous guy topped our glasses up, smiles got bigger and we got gigglier. It was hard not to, after all we were in a bar sipping Champagne, surrounded by sexy men.
Then at one point in the evening we spotted the lip wobble. You have to be careful on a post break-up night out; after a certain amount of alcohol is consumed there is the danger that the friend will remember that she's heart-broken and start to cry. There's nothing wrong with that, however if she cries in front of the gorgeous male staff in the Charlotte Street Hotel then she will feel awful and not want to go back there. Ever. Luckily, we got her out of the bar just in time.
As we were in the heart of Soho we took her to an old-fashioned pub, with patterned carpets and no hot bar staff and we sat in a corner with her while she got the tears out of her system. After a decent interval she dried those tears, went to the loo to reapply her make-up and then we were off. You see it's almost like a science. She cried because she felt so dreadful, then she got cross because the reason she was crying was her horrible ex. Then she realised that she wasn't going to let him ruin her life, (or even her night) totally. We've all been there, I'm sure.
We went to another bar where there was music and dancing and more men.
'You see, it's true there are plenty of fish in the sea,' my heart-broken friend declared, optimistically. I wondered if she didn't ever read my column or had developed temporarily post break-up amnesia. However there was no way I was going to point this out.
And that night, she was right. As if to prove to her there was life after her ex, they had all come out to play. There were the city boys who were a little bit plastered but bought us Champagne and entertained us for a bit with stories of big 'bonuses'. Then, when the boys became totally incoherent, we hit the dance floor. There is nothing better than seeing a heart-broken friend laugh, even if she was laughing at the dad dancers, who kept trying to get us to dance with them. Then as if by magic three hot boys appeared. Well, a bit like Goldilocks and the three bears, one was a bit luke-warm, the second was a bit warmer, and the third was hot! More than just right. We approached and started talking to them, and we maneuvered so that post break-up friend was talking to the hottest. I think that someone was looking after us that night. They were great dancers and when questioned it turned out that they were professional dancers. They all had great bodies and six packs that were slightly mesmerising. We went to the bar on further questioning, it turned out that the boys were lap dancers! And I didn't even know that male lapdancers existed.
My friend had by this point gained in confidence and she was talking to hottie intensely. And I don't think they were swapping knitting patterns. My friend and I were grilling the other two, about what they did and didn't show when lap dancing, how much money they got stuffed into their pants and what their favourite coloured g-strings were. And before we knew it, it was home time.
My friend was a different woman. I knew she was going to wake-up the following day and feel sad again, but at least she would remember the evening and hopefully that would make her smile. It was a perfect post break-up evening. We'd even got free strippers. Not that they actually stripped.
'I got his phone number,' she announced triumphantly in the taxi home.
'Are you going to call him?' I asked.
'I'm going to call him now,' she announced beginning to drunk dial. My other friend and I exchanged glances. Did I forget to say? The hiding the phone thing, that can, and does, pervade all different stages.

Next week: The gay/straight man