Nelson Galaxy

Busby, my very good friend, popped around to the flat yesterday. He was feeling a little exhausted due to having an appalling hangover and only two hours of sleep. He told me about his Saturday night spent in Camden’s Koko club. Busby spends a lot of time going to nightclubs alone. He goes there to find a girlfriend. All of his former flings have been with women he meets in these loud, crowded, dark hovels. They are always rather beautiful and stunningly statuesque foreign ladies. This would be a good thing if they were not always totally crazy. Busby’s relationships never end happily.

This particular Saturday night, Busby was bopping away in a crazy stylee when a gorgeous blond Scandinavian looking lady came up to him and whispered in his ear. Busby has an annoying but often humorous habit of mishearing people. In an environment where one can hear very little other than pumping beats he doesn’t stand a chance.

“I’m sure she was just asking for a dance or if I wanted a drink Nel. But what it sounded like to me was something very bizarre. I had to stop pulling my dance floor moves and ask, ‘You want to smell my trousers?’ At which point I removed said garment for her nasal pleasure. She squealed and ran away. ‘How strange,’ I thought. I was pulling my trousers back over my shoes when she returned with a tattooed, barrel-chested bouncer. I was forcibly removed from the venue with my trousers around my ankles. It was a good night.”

I had to ask Busby why he genuinely thought a lady would like to smell his trousers. He proffered the garment to me and asked me to find out. I must say, his trousers did smell wonderful. Like Bailey’s Irish Cream.