This morning, not sure why, but I rode into work on my motorbike despite the weather being so terrible and ‘so not ideal’ for biking. I’m a little confused why I did this – especially when in summer I only took the bitch out about six times when the weather was perfect for a long period. Bitch is the nickname for my motorbike and I like it.
Maybe, I did this because, few days ago I saw another chap at work rev into work on his motorbike. Or that, my acquaintance who is due to spend a few days with me talked about me taking her out for a ride – something which she has never done.
On that note..
Honestly, if someone had told me how hot women get more hotter when they experience the thrill of riding a motorbike, I’d quit University after my first semester and open a women’s motorbike school only for hot women – that way i’d save years in figuring out why so many women wanted a ride on my motorbike again and again when I finally qualified to ride one and got one in my final year.
Three weird and crazy things happened few nights ago, which I have been debating and wanting to write about. They are (in order of how they happened):
1. I was involved in a street fight
2. I lost my watch in that same street fight
3. I made friends with a gay guy
All three things happened in one short night, and where in the words ‘street’ and ‘fight’ come together, you can expect plenty of fists and plenty of guys.
OK “plenty of fists” might be a hyperbole or an overstatement, as well as “plenty of guys”. What happened was two pairs of fists began to clash like in a boxing ring, between two blokes. Neither the fists belonged to me nor neither was I anyone of the two blokes – well not at the beginning.
You’re probably trying to find the correlation between this post title ‘Cornetto’ and the three crazy things that happened all in one night. Well…
I was alone at my apartment, having just got back from my daily pulverize. It had just turned 11:25pm and I suddenly got the urge of stuffing at least two Cornetto ice creams down my throat – a strawberry one and a mint one – as quickly as possible. It was my fix. I was simultaneously texting an acquaintance who was staying over at her friends nearby, let’s give her a name: Kiren. Upon discovering with a fright that I had zero Cornetto ice creams in my freezer – I frantically text this information to Kiren – whose quick thinking suggested “come pick me up and let’s get some” in her text. Perfect…
or was it…
I drove to her place, picked her up, and headed into the spaghetti-road City Centre in the direction of Tesco express. I gradually rolled my car towards the traffic lights which signalled stop. My attention suddenly fell on two guys and three ladies, just a little ahead on the side pavement to my right. Out of frigging nowhere, one of the guys suddenly launched a ferocious attack on the other guy. Who at first, put up a little resistance until he suddenly dropped like ‘George Foreman’ against Muhammad Ali during the ‘The Rumble in the Jungle’ fight in Zaire. What didn’t help George-Foreman-guy was that the three ladies were on the side of Mohammad-Ali-guy.
“Mooootttthhhhher fucker” I put my foot down and literally rammed my Range Rover on the the pavement towards their direction. The next few moments where a little blur and hazy, but from what I recall – my Range Rover ended up about 2 feet before the George-Foreman-guy who was still lying on the floor and the Muhammad-Ali-guy and the three ladies were up against the wall with their hands raised above their heads at the sight of my Range Rover heading in their direction then suddenly stopping – I bet their entire lives flashed by them in a split second as they took their last gasp of air and confined in the wall directly behind them.
Side note number one: My acquaintances have never seen my rough side. By ‘rough’ I mean when it comes to fights of confrontations with other men – minimum of two. My rough side is usually contained and controlled only executed at the right time and at the right place. On this occasion, these guys were boxing on my home turf and I wasn’t going to ignore this or allow this to happen. I don’t give a fuck, who you are, who started it or who did what, all I know was that I was going to finish it.
I launched out of my car, and examined the guy in the floor – The one still stood up was trying to continue his attack on the man down – I immediately restrained him with a struggle and a shuffle in which I ended up pushing him onto the floor. I recollect standing over him and uttering the words along the lines “how do you want to finish this?” with some nasty swears chucked in. Trying to imply that although the one you attacked is down – I’m ready to frigging rearrange your face right now – right here. At the same time, I was having a nervous feeling of not wanting my white shirt covered in anyone’s blood the least mine – or the tie I was wearing, to be used to strangle anyone at least not me.
Kiren attended the damaged guy, who at this point was trying to sit up and assess himself. Behind me, I had Kiren and this guy and in front, was this foul mouthed cross between a rugby player and a jockey, oh and the ladies, who were rallying the guy to carry on with his attack.
This debacle within minutes fizzled out, helped by some people who recognised my Range Rover, awkwardly parked on the pavement with both doors open, who then decided to investigate, upon seeing this, the group of attackers somewhat nervously turned and fled.
It dawned upon me that this group of people knew each other. Well at least the two guys involved knew each other as Kiren interrogated him and while I drove the victim home – well to his apartment, which wasn’t far.
Side note number two: Kiren was in a total shock. She freaked out when I said “right, Tesco it is” just as we dropped off the battered George-Foreman-guy. For her, it wasn’t something she could get over quickly. By ‘quickly’ I mean, as quickly as I did. For me it was a common-regular fracas. One which I have seen a millions times before this one. Kiren was somewhere between being overly impressed in how I engaged this group alone with confidence and between witnessing the rough side of me – which as I said earlier, she hadn’t seen – and neither has any other acquaintances.
If Kiren had witnessed this alone, it probably would have taken her more than ‘a minute’ to get over it. It would have taken her months and probably involve endless phone calls to her girly friends for support, sick leave from her work on the grounds of fracas-witnessed-related-stress, 2 boxes of Ferrero Rocher chocolate with 64 in each and a “I fucking hate Leeds” view for life – then there would go my pleasure and minus one from my acquaintance database. DRAMATIC RIGHT – I know.
Luckily Kiren wasn’t alone, luckily Kiren had me to help her get over it, luckily we were in Leeds, luckily I was in the mood of some Cornetto ice cream and I wasn’t going to let this punch up deter me from my objective – two Cornetto ice cream one after the other – one strawberry and one mint one.
At the checkout in Tesco, hugging two packs of Cornetto ice cream, with six in each – I suddenly got a weird feeling in my right wrist. When I looked – my balls dropped, a sudden fever overcome my body and my forehead pulsated rapidly, I couldn’t hear anything, everything had gone numb – my Hublot wrist watch was missing.
Side note number three: Now, the thing with my watch was this. 1. It was a Hublot. 2. It was a fucking Hublot. 3. I never paid for it, it was a gift. 4. When I come face to face with my acquaintance in December, she will ask ‘where is it’? 5. She will practically shoot me on site, and be prepared to spend her entire life in a prison in South Asia for my murder when I go to visit her this December. 6. It was a Hublot. 7. It was a watch which was given to me on my 25th birthday as a gesture of our relationship or whatever we have between us – it wasn’t just a watch it meant more to me then just that.
Staggering somewhat, I made it to my car. Opened the door and said to Kiren “where the fuck is my watch?” Knowing I would never see that watch again I contemplated spending five figure sum to get an exact model again – to conceal the fact I lost it.
That night I spent alone, without having consumed my Cornetto ice cream and wishing that I could kill someone with a perfect murder to drown the sorrow of losing my wrist watch. I had multiple heart attacks on the thought of someone selling my dear Hublot watch on eBay and using the large sum of money on a holiday, a car and plenty of alcohol. I ran through various scenarios – would my insurance believe me when I say to them I’d lost it? What if they decide I was lying to them and refused to replace it or compensate me…
The next morning..
I didn’t have any meetings till the afternoon, so I got into work at 9:40am – set up my laptop and then walked straight out to get a coffee, all the while, thinking about last night and more so, whether my acquaintance from South Asia who gifted me the watch would actually find out, and if she did, what would be her reaction?
I walked into Leeds City Centre, deliberately avoiding the very same location where this saga unfolded. I got to my regular coffee shop which is bang on in the middle of the city centre, ordered a large latte and took a seat.
I sat there miserably, trying to drink my latte but struggling to swallow when one of the workers in the coffee shop stood over me and said “excuse me, the boss would like to see you”. Somewhat confused, I asked her to repeat herself. When she did I felt like saying “Fuck you and your boss, I have had a miserable night, a night where I didn’t get to consume my Cornetto ice cream simultaneously, a night where I engaged in hostilities, a night where I saved someone from a brutal beating, a night where I almost petrified Kiren out of Leeds never to come back, not to mention how bad that would be for Leeds economy if she did, and most important of all, I lost my Hublot which was gifted to me and you want me to meet your boss because he says so….go fuck off” but in return I replied “No – I’m very sorry”. She walked away disappointedly and I didn’t give it a second thought.
She reappeared and said “Are you the guy, who lost his watch last night?”. I looked up at her face with some mixed, screwed up emotions. I replied “how the hell do you know?”. She then uttered “boss wants to see you”.
As crazy as it may seem, I leaped out of my chair, followed the lady through some small grey weird doors until we reached a back office type room. Right in front of me, you wouldn’t believe who was sat there. It was the same bloke who I saved from that brutal beating the night before – he recognised me from the CCTV screen right in front of him. More importantly he had my watch right in front of him too.
Apparently, while I was wrestling to hold off his attacker, my Hublot, somehow, broke its strap and fell on him. He clenched onto it, thinking it belonged to his attacker. Only after I dropped him off at his apartment he realised the watch didn’t belong to his ex-partner (that’s right, that other bloke was his ex partner), so he immediately assumed it was mine.
Too fucking right it was mine.
This guy who I saved – lets give him a name: Kevin is a franchise owner of a well established, branded and very popular coffee shop. He recognised me, as not many people come into his coffee shop with a Hublot watch – which he assured me, and more surprisingly he is a gay. That’s right. This late 40’s bloke, who looked like a tanned Australian beach volleyball player you could pass off as being aged in his mid-30’s – was a gay no joke. When he told me his age, his body physique simply did not match a late 40’s person. Kevin was as fit as me. Instantly, in my head I recalled all the past experiences I have had with men who think I’m gay – and I really didn’t have the energy or patience to take on yet another battle.
We spent the next 3 hours or so, talking about him, his fight, the patterns on his face from last night, democracy, Israel (he is Jewish) and how to take advantage of the downturn in Leeds economy and the closure of so many retail space.
As for the fight last night. Well, the story goes like this…
Kevin was married (to a women) where they first met and got together at University, but Kavin realised he was gay and was too scared to come out into the open with it. His wife finally found out and ended their marriage with a painful and very expensive divorce. Kevin then moved to Australia for few years. When he returned, he moved from London to Leeds for business reasons, and in the process met his first ever long term gay boyfriend. Let’s give him a name: Mark. Mark was his newly appointed business bank manager and a gay who wasn’t scared to openly admit it, they got on, fell in love, and Mark helped Kevin open up his real identity without fear of the public. They moved in together and lived together for over 4 years until disaster struck and Kevin was being used and abused for his wealth and contacts. It all ended up in a big mess and Mark eventually walked out on their relationship.
The other night, was the time when both Mark and Kevin came face to face in a club, they talked, caught up with each other until their history came into discussion. The discussion got nasty, helped by the three ladies who Mark was out with to entertain, and ended up being pushed and shoved out of the club, only to be continued outside – that’s when I showed up at the traffic lights – and the rest you know.
It should be made clear that by now Kevin, to me, didn’t appear to be gay. He was, to me, just like any other straight guy would be – and I guess, that’s what made me comfortable around him.
We exchanged business cards, he presented me with a loyalty card for his coffee shop. One which allowed me to eat and drink whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. Thank you but no thanks and I rejected it. Only to have Kevin appreciate me even more. So in return, I offered him free membership and free access to my gym any time – which he accepted.
I did have one question on my mind. I asked him “what if I didn’t turn up today, what would you have done with my Hublot?” He laughed and confessed that the idea of selling my watch on eBay did come to his mind, but he recalled only ever seeing this watch on two people who come to his coffee shop. One a white chap and one an Asian chap – who was me. So he was intended to contact Hublot with the serial number of the watch and get them to locate me if I didn’t show. Smart move, this now makes me more comfortable around Kevin – and I liked his personality. It was a good job I intervened in his business the other night.
Now that I have made friends with a gay, this brings the headcount of my gay friends to four. To me, he isn’t gay and that’s probably how I’d like to see Kevin.
Come Sunday, I have invited Kevin to join me and my crew for a few games of snooker. Kevin accepted and agreed to bring his son around too, who by the way, is in my age group of mid-20’s.
I think, Kevin and I along with my crew will get on really well. Firstly because we are all business-entrepreneurial-minded people. Secondly Kevin and his personality is of a great guy and him being a gay is not an issue and thirdly because we probably can network on business-entrepreneurial level.
On my way back to work, I called up Kiren and told her what just happen. She simply could not believe it. She screamed over the phone…then paused…then said “open another franchise coffee shop in Leeds with him”…now there’s a good Idea – don’t you think?
I write this blog post from the kitchen of my friend’s house, where four of us have just consumed some spicy Chinese this late hour, and where I have, finally, got the chance to clench my Cornetto urge.
That or contemplate all the ‘what-ifs’ of that weird and crazy night.