Party time

Moi, to the right, at Silk Royale - an over hyped crowded lil place that passes for one of the best night spots in Kampala whose play list is nothing short of a monument to a unoriginality - doing my best impression of a happy clubber; not very hard to do after a blow job and a couple of Screaming Multiple Orgasms. But am getting a head of myself, allow me to start at the beginning.
On the first Friday of March I made a return to the club circuit, following month-long forced absence from. Because of the threat of violence that loomed in the period leading upto and following the Presidential elections, and the illness of my niece shortly afterward, I was confined to my home and fun activities were limited to watching football and watching football. For the record, it's not the possibility of violence that stopped me from going clubbing but the chickening out of my clubbing mates. But, you can't keep a good girl at home for long; the Presidential elections duly ended and my niece recovered nicely. But normal service was not to resume without a few hiccups - story of my life! Isaac, my cousin, M's on and off boyfriend - love's a bitch - who was to give us a lift to da club was taken ill with malaria only a few days we were to go out, and we couldn't find a replacement for him on short notice. But I was determined to end my exile so I told my M that we'd go by public means. Her initial apprehension - it's not safe for two women to go about town alone at night - gave way in the face of my resolve. And so it was that at 10 pm on a Friday night my cousin and I were on a Bajaj, with me wearing a sarong over my skirt - it's singularly unsafe for girls in mini skirts to move about town unaccompanied. We got to the main road, about 7 kilometers away from home, and took a matatu (psv) to town. Then we took another Bajaj to a swanky bar whence we were to meet my other cousin Arm. We hang out with him for a bit then took a taxi to Royale. I was pretty psyched, having known the place by reputation only. But I was really disappointed: the place was crowded, the music irritatingly bland, the crowd unrefined; there's no end to the club's short comings.
I had a good mind to leave early, but having expended so much energy getting there, decided to stay and make a go of it. I accepted offers for drinks and suffered some of the most punishing conversation ever. But my sufferance was not tested for long because after a blow job and several screaming multiple orgasms, which I especially enjoyed because they're made of my favorite poison, Amarula, I was so high that I hit the dance floor with a vengeance and was so dancing on the speakers - that was a lot of fun! I recall shaking booty to Sean Paul's Temperature, which I love, ordinarily, but which on the night was nothing short of orgasmic. Speaking of SP, i hope he never comes back to Africa, coz i'd follow his ass to wherever. We got a lift back home, and slept for most of Saturday. I'll be going to Club Rouge, which, am told, can be enjoyed sans intoxication.

Peace, out! One love