Why I'm not THAT desperate

Thinking that her baby may end up a spinster, my dearest mumsy was at me last time I was up in Newcastle, to "settle down" with someone. She is aware that she won't get the grand-kiddies out of my lazy bum sister*, I am her only hope.

Not wanting to fail her, I saw an email offering a chance to write a story about the Desperate and Dateless Ball (which has since been kindly refined to D&D) and thought that it would make both a good story and a very happy mumsy, if I was to meet "the one". And, if nothing else, a free ticket (to the value of $110) and all the piss I could drink - how could I lose?

And right there I acknowledge my massive mistake. For, the event in question turned out to be nothing more than a scarily glorified meat market.

There were moments of disgust, whereby I had to run away from a group of desperate dudes chasing me, whilst crying out: "Journalist! Journalist!!" Who ever thought that I would be so ashamed to admit to being a part of the career I so aspire to having...

In any case, you could totally smell the desperation in the air. And the fact that the men totally outnumbered the women, I was at leats hoping to get a good story out of a good old gay hook up. There were many times that some guys would offer to make out with each other, but sadly, it never eventuated on my camera...ahhh nuts!

Suffice to say, it was one hell seedy night and I count myself lucky that I escaped completely unscathed...

So, sorry mumsy, and sorry Deepthi (Reportage editor), for I have nothing positive to say about my experience in desperation...thinking that from now on, I shall stick simply to going out for the gigs - NOT the guys...

* It would appear that the publication of this post has ultimately defamed the person in question. The author wishes to apologise for any mortification this has brought about to the victim...