SHITE, or Training at Altitude

I thought I’d write a short post to summarise the last two days street approach adventures in the UK. Yesterday, a wing and I (Matt) parked ourselves up at a Costa in town. The foot-fall was decent and we could work as we perused girls walking past. I think we did 4 each and they were all Roads to Masturbation (I have a boyfriend, I’m a lesbian etc). It wasn’t necessarily a bad little 3 hour session. Work and Game was done and a couple of my sets felt decent.

The highlight of the day was a fully-grown British woman with wrinkles around her eyes saying.

“I’m only 26 but get mistaken for much younger”

I deeply regret telling her that she looked in fact 26. On the money.

Today though, now today was a different matter. A bipolar opposite to most of my recent daygame sessions this last year. I am still feeling the hammering that my body, mind and soul endured over the last three weeks in Poland and especially with Roy last weekend, which culminated in no sleep on Monday night in advance of my 7am flight Tuesday morning and work that day. I have been hitting the gym this week and anyway, I am digressing. Suffice to say I look and feel tired.

So the first set today was a very attractive little brunette who looked like a Californian drug addict (she didn’t, but that was my opener). She liked it, hooked and we spoke. As I went to number close she literally gulped in panic, her eyes widened and she grimaced as she shook her head and walked away. The scorn, contempt and sheer sickening thought she felt at the notion of sleeping with me was captured in that horrific moment of pure rejection. Oh well lol.

Great start to the day. I’d be lying if it didn’t knock my confidence a little. But worry not, dear reader, more kicking a downed man was to follow.

I opened a little rat-looking thing that was a cross between a Czech and a Colombian (she was just that).

“I’m 18 years old” she said, as she fumbled for a tab with her tat-ridden hands. She was hideous in many respects despite her outward beauty, the small details turned my stomach. She said she wasn’t interested.

Next up was a Romanian who told me she had a boyfriend but she didn’t know how long she had had a boyfriend for. The set was ok and I was betting on it closing in my favour. But that’s a new one, I’ve got a man just don’t know who he is because I just made him up because you are vile.

Another set with a gorgeous girl who beamed and hooked and then told me she didn’t have Instagram, or a mobile phone (she was holding it in her hand) as she walked away. Gorgeous she was, just a Brit.

“Another route round the centre” we muttered to ourselves. There is a reflective glass front on the bus station administration centre that we refer to as the ‘Mirror of Value’ because it always makes you look really handsome as you walk past it. It seems to be a one-way mirror thereby allowing staff to peer out onto the street in privacy. But you have to be careful because the mirror can give, but also take away. The mirror will build your vibe, but like any drug, it can wreck you, and the Mirror of Value is dangerous – it cannot be overused. We concluded that all girls opened over the last two days worked in the administration building behind the Mirror of Value, and they laughed and sneered at us as we checked ourselves out in the reflection as we walked past them. Their revenge was sweet. Such is the danger inherent in the Mirror of Value.

I rounded off the day with another set on a noxious Brit who looked great from behind but was a low 7 with admittedly nice eyes/arse. I told her why I stopped her and she walked away, practically vomitting.

There we go, a few daygame sets in a provincial Northern city.