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A little less conversation: After Sex @Arcolatheatre

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According to research, millennials in rich countries are having sex less these days. But they were prepared to talk more about it. So, it is no surprise to see a story about what happens when a series of no-strings-attached encounters start to become attachments. And the conversations arising from it. Such is the premise of After Sex, Siofra Dromgoole’s two-hander of the conversations afterwards. It’s not particularly sexy or erotic, and the snappy pacing and short scenes sometimes make you wish they stayed longer to finish the conversation. Nevertheless, it is still a funny and, at times, bittersweet picture of single lives in the big city. It’s currently playing at the Arcola Theatre .  He is bi and works for her in an office job. She is neither ready for a commitment nor to let the office know what’s happening. He isn’t prepared to tell his mum there’s someone special in his life. He doesn’t speak to his dad, so his mum is his world. It’s a perfect relationship/arrangement. Or so it
Weather resolution

Guy-who-took-room-after-me ends up suggesting on Friday night we go for a drink, which after leaving work at 8pm I figure what the hell, I'll skip gym for that. However:

  • He has another commitment so drinks will commence at 10.30pm, which is hardly enough time before closing to make it worth the effort, but I figure I am only a 20 minute walk to soho so I should be arsed to do that. I spend the hour and a bit between getting home and going out again discussing the imminent Papal death with lapsed Catholics back in Australia.
  • After quick drink in soho Guy-who-took-room-after-me suggests we head to G-A-Y at the Astoria. He bought with him fliers to get cheap (and quick) entry which I thought was pretty organised. The only thing to wait for was the security check. Security guard frisks me and queries the five pound note I have scrunched up in my jeans pocket. I say to him, "its money" and I guess that dumb response suggested I was not some coke addict.
  • G-A-Y at the Astoria on Friday nights is pretty casual and relaxed. The music on Fridays is all ABBA, Kylie and a curiously high number of Pointer Sister tracks which will make you wish you put on your "Choose Life" t-shirt, shoulder pads and extra thick hair gel. But hey when you can sing along to all the tracks it can't be that bad a thing...
  • Drinks come in cans which is fine if you like English beers or cider. Beer or cider in cans in a very warm and sweaty environment is such an experience, but it does encourage the punters to drink more... Well those punters that can take their alcohol - and take English beer or cider.
  • It was probably around the fourth or fifth can of cider that Guy-who-took-room-after-me found an Asian midget and started snogging the thing.
  • I realised I was way too sober and after the earlier discussion about Catholicism really not ready for the wild crazy hedonism that seemed to be breaking out on the dance floor amongst the discarded cans, the warm air, the bright lights, and the Spice Girls Movie playing on a large screen and the endless stream of classic pop from the eighties. So I called it a night at the awfully sensible hour of 2am, wishing (on three separate occasions) someone a good night after they tried to distract me from leaving.
  • Five minutes later I was home... Location location... I got a text today enquiring if I got home last night and some references to a few too many cans of cider but I figure since I make a lousy drinking buddy and I don't drink cider, I probably wouldn't skip gym again for that. Although I did download some Pointer Sisters tracks from iTunes for my collection... Baby, make your move, step across the line,
    Touch me one more time, come on, dare me!
    Amen to that...

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