Hooking up is an international language

This is another one out of the "oh my God, how could you do that?" category.

OK, Friday night. Bad night, next to no people out at all, clubs are almost deserted. But I'm there, somehow determined to enjoy myself, even though I was feeling a bit down.

The drink flows, as does my judgement, meaning right down the drain.

I bump into someone who has made his interest in me more than crystal clear. As in blindingly obvious, in an almost silly way. Not much of a looker, but probably a nice guy.

I feel the need to kiss someone, anyone. Given the limited choice, he would have to do. As I said, common sense was gone for the night. There was, somehow, a deep-felt need to hook up. Not good.

And we do. On the dance floor, wasted as I am. We kiss, probably for hours.

At closing time, we leave. Then comes the shocker: he doesn't speak any Dutch at all. He's British, and lives close to my place. Proper gentleman though.

We go there, cuddle and sleep, sleep and cuddle. I wake up feeling pathetic, dirty and stupid. Turns out he's really into me, I just want to go home.

We exchange email addresses and that will be the end of it as far as I'm concerned.

This way my inevitable "oh no!" moment. I'm staying off the booze tonight, and totally feel the urge for a lifestyle u-turn.

Could Mr Right please give me a call?