Tuesday, 18 December 2012

Drama at the discotheque…



June 2009.  After a couple more sessions with the designer, I’m getting worried that this is becoming ‘a relationship’, and decide to cool things down a bit.  He wants to catch up over the weekend, but so does the sheikh, so I go in favour of the royal.  Bear in mind that in this part of the world, princes number in their hundreds, so it’s not like I’m shagging Prince Harry or anything.

Being who he is, of course the sheikh is late.  As I sit there, the designer walks in and demands to know why I am in this place if I was too busy to see him.  I decide there is no point in lying, so I tell him.  He knows of the sheikh, his friends, and his reputation (which was news to me).   Incredibly, tears follow, and the designer leaves.  I start to receive multiple text messages from him, apparently sobbing, from out in the car park.  Sheikh arrives, with a shockingly camp young man in tow, and I decide it’s not worth the drama and cancel our plans.  He is not pleased.  I go out to the carpark and find the designer is in his car, still sobbing.  Being a public place, I can only offer limited comfort, so we leave for my house, where I firmly but gently end our relationship.  And turn off my phone.

The next morning I awake to voicemails from HH (one, angry), and the designer (five, sobbing and hysterical), plus numerous text messages and a torrent of abuse via social media.  Oh dear….

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