I once took a bird back to a gaff, and rattled her......but a tale goes with it.
This would be early-to-mid 90's, I was recently-separated, and had effectively been of no-fixed-abode for around a year - I call it my 'Spread The Sunshine' period. Anyways, I'm hooked-up, and on the wrong side of town.....but a pal has a gaff around a mile away. I had a spare key, and determined that this was the spot to seal the deal.........however, I hadn't realised my pal (who was living in Eindhoven at the time) had managed to successfully sell the place, since I'd moved out 6 weeks previously.
Glossing-over the hugely successful night of top-shagging, I awoke in the morning to find no sign of habitation.........save for the back-bedroom, which appeared to have been left asunder of all its usual detritus, only to be replaced with a rather sweetly-decorated nursery.
I happened upon this realisation shortly after a
particularly satisfying first-slash-of-the-day - physically double-taking as I strolled past the back-bedroom door. After a quick scan of the overall environment (which had generally changed out of recognition) I ran headlong into a door-jam; splitting my brow wide-open in the process - a combination of dread, panic, and a violent post-Dack-Janiels hangover, causing a termporary discombobulation in my motor capacities.
Upon reaching the heroine of the hour in the main boudoir, I gave brief consideration to rattling her again, before valour took over, and I ushered her from the place in a most hurry-along fashion.
I put her in a cab on Porty High Street, never to see her again, then jumped a Hackney of my own to work, where I'd left my wheels the night before. The key to the flat was discarded over the high hedge into Drummond Square Gardens, and is still there for all I know.
This is a true story.
I've done f*ck-all else of note, mind.
