Where are the normal people?

After watching the rather interesting Al Gore lecture on Global Warming and how all the rivers will recede, all the soil will dry up and the sun's inability to escape (should let my mother near it, those rays will be in outer space before you can say chicken soup), I went to the pub with 12 poofs from here. In the Duke of Wellington , I was chatting to a drunken Geordie, a features editor at Attitude Magazine, when this Clark Kent lookalike turned to me. He was being chatted up by an older gentleman in his 60s and wanted to escape. Instead of saying "I think we are at different stages in life, I am not interested", he asked if I would "go along with his plan".

Reticent, to say the least, I told him that would depend on what it was.

The scenario unfolded that we both pretended to work as lawyers at the same firm (although it emerged I was the inferior one) and I was to urge him to go back and complete a deal at the office as a made up woman called Sandra was expecting him. I was stellar. You would have been amazed. I was almost as Bollywood as you. Only English. I should have been in acting never mind "law", I told Clark after.

Before the old man disappeared and my guilt levels rose, the drunken Geordie decided to wind me up further. "You never told me you were sleeping with someone else, you bastard" he cried as my face contorted into disbelief.

"What are you doing to me honey" I yelled.

The Benny Hill farce evaporated with my self esteem to the offer of drinks and more by both of them. I give up.

Where are the normal people?