The Teaches of Fleetches

The Fleetch and I journeyed a long distance yesterday evening, all the way to the fair city of Glasgow, to meet my friend Hot Emma (her official title, and it is well deserved). We'd all bought tickets to see the fantastic Peaches DJing at a local club, and it was an excellent night. For those of you who don't know Peaches, this is a little taster of her music and is in fact my favourite song of hers.

We decided that the teaches of Fleetches are like also very much like sex on the beaches. Huh. What? On a slightly related note, the Fleetch and I had the following conversation earlier in the week:

Me: You know what I really like? Rum.

Fleetch: That's very pirate-y of you.

Me: I know, right?

There is a brief silence.

Me: By the way, we're out of rum.

Fleetch: (eyeing me suspiciously) Are the two things related?

Me: I refuse to address such accusations. Much like I imagine a pirate would.

Fleetch: You know, we should really start making Fleetch-related cocktails at home.

Me: That is a genius idea. Like a "Fleetch On the Beach", or a "Fleetchito".

Fleetch: A "Strawberry Daiqufleetch". Oh, wait - a "Fleetchmopolitan"!

Peaches performed a brilliant set which had the entire crowd dancing and throwing themselves around like toddlers on a sugar high. She wore what I can only really describe as a 'boob dress' - literally, a dress with enormous breasticles sown on - as seen here:

Peaches also ensured that the crowd remained sticky throughout the night by spraying us with champagne and beer, held between her legs in a rather suggestive manner. After the bus dropped us back in Edinburgh, we walked home. On the way I saw a constructive digger, looming all shiny and alone in the darkness, so I dared the Fleetch to ride it, which she did without a moment's hesitation.

Young man! There's no need to feel down!