I attended the Lovestruck singles' night at Gilt Bar on January 25. There I was confronted by the sight of lonely Londoners pathetically seeking sexual validation from total strangers of the opposite gender.
The men were the usual assortment of white collar types, with varying degrees of baldness and obesity. The women were carbon copies too, in flimsy black dresses, clunky platform heels and rotten orange spray tans.
As the night wore on, the most attractive prospects paired and left, and the level of desperation increased palpably. I made a merciful exit at 10:30 p.m., with Lovestruck having struck a sour note with me.
Typical London.
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