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Old Dudes and (the) Old Me

Back when I was a a kid, like a proper kid, like 14, me and my friend Amy would always get a lot of attention from old men.

Back when I was a a kid, like a proper kid, like 14, me and my friend Amy would always get a lot of attention from old men. We spent about two years spending their money in clubs and it was pretty fun. We recently found loads of pictures from the glory days, so here they are. I guess the guys come out of of these stories looking pretty weird, but they weren't all scumbags. And I'm older now and wouldn't do these types of things.

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Peter

Peter was a city boy we met in Old Street outside that awful Chinese restaurant that sells MSG soup for £6 a go. He decided to come over and talk to us (at us) while we were having a cigarette on a bench. He seemed to take our mute disgust at his open, gaping maw full of sweet and sour pork as a positive reaction to his raw sexual energy, and kept saying Billie looked like a "tasty dish". He said he was in Shoreditch because he was trying to get his "music thing" off the ground. He described a track he'd been working on, which had a beat that was like "a single acorn dropping from a tree and hitting the ground". We later found him passed out in front of the tube station and covered him in newspaper, because we're considerate like that.

Dr Shabazz

We met Dr Shabazz at the first Nuke 'Em All. He didn't realise that there weren't gonna be any strippers at Images that night, but decided to stay for the fun anyway. He bought us drinks, then insisted we dance with him. His method involved grabbing the nearest body part of a girl and then reeling himself in while licking his lips. It was horrible.

Callum

Callum was a guy we met in a posh hotel, he paid for our cocktails that came with sparklers and free makeup. He told us we could get whatever we wanted as long as we "relaxed with him". He had a disgusting yellow Ferrari and spent most of the evening showing us camera-phone pictures of his various topless girlfriends and trying to smell Amy's hair. He offered to take us to his hotel in Dubai for NYE, which we stupidly never went through with. When we left to go to the bathroom, we met a lady who had been glassed in the head by her boyfriend, but refused to let us help in case her rich husband found out she was having an affair. We had to call the hotel staff and agree that she had simply "slipped" on the floor. Callum didn't like us ignoring him, gave us his number and stormed off in a huff.

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Hard-knock lads

We met these lads hanging about in Farringdon after a night of karaoke. They had the greatest weed and told us stories about their "hard knock life" and how the characters on EastEnders were basically based on them. Then they tried to divide us up by asking pointed questions about whether they were too old for us. We were able to leave without getting raped by running into Tinseltown, which is a 24-hour diner opposite.

Aaron

Aaron is one of the best guys we ever met. One night when he came and sat next to us and asked us who we were. He was holding a big black briefcase, and he was wouldn't tell us what was inside. About 15 minutes passed and eventually a posh car pulled up and someone got out. Aaron said, "Let's do this inside" to the dude, and asked us to wait in the hallway during the hand over. It was all quite dodgy, and I guess Aaron was keen to butter us up so we wouldn't blab to anyone. We went upstairs to his amazing penthouse apartment and drank expensive wine with him and his creepy friend. He asked if we'd DJ at his Halloween party, clearly thinking he'd never actually see us again. But we showed up (see photo above). His wife wasn't best pleased. For about a year, we rung his bell every time we walked down Shoreditch High Street, until he eventually threatened to ring the police if we ever contacted him again.

Mugabe

One night when we were in central London we tried to get into the Spearmint Rhino on Tottenham Court Road. We had no luck, but met this gorgeous guy outside with a BMW convertible and a salt 'n' pepper beard. We kept shouting at him to give us a ride, but he just acted like we didn't exist and continued waiting for his mate inside to come out. After a while, he found our desperation endearing and said he'd drive us to the RCA, as it wasn't far away. We hopped in with him and his mate, and it quickly became clear he was some big drug trafficker in the middle of a huge deal inside. For that reason, he wouldn't give us his real name, and asked us to call him Mugabe. He drove us really fast all the way with the top down while we played hip-hop on our phones and gave the finger to passers by. He repeatedly turned round at every red light and said, "Now, now. We don't want to get the police involved, do we? Stop drawing attention." We begged him to come inside to the party with us but he wasn't having any of it. We exchanged numbers and had the following text exchange a few weeks later:

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"Hey Mugabe. Thanks again for giving us a ride the other night. Hope we can traffic drugs with you again sometime, or coerce you into a cocktail at a bar of your choice. Luv Billie and Amy aka. loL!t@z of da nItE."

"I told you girls you were too young for this business. Besides, the fun is in the taking, not in the carrying. PS. I don't take much coercing. Old boys of da early evening."

"We'll hold you to that, we love you. Hobos of da dawn."

"I look forward to it. Gimme a ring next time you need a ride to DA CLUB. Gentlemen of the twilight hour."

Alejandro

Alejandro was this gross guy we met in Hyde Park early one morning when neither of us could be bothered to trek home. Despite his rumpled clothes and bloodshot eyes, he insisted he was on his way to his sister's wedding. After politely asking him not to touch us for about five minutes, he pulled out a joint and offered to share it, then kept asking us to come closer in broken English and wagging his tobacco-stained finger. After the weed was gone, we thanked him for his time, then left. He halfheartedly tried to follow us for a while, but gave up at the first sign of other people.

Giuseppe

This is Giuseppe. We met him and his mate in Notting Hill outside Tesco, where Billie had just run in and got some wine and a cheese pastry. She kept breaking off bits and shoving it in his face, shouting, "WANT SOME ROLL?" Giuseppe was an air steward for EasyJet and apparently lived very nearby. He said this over and over again, and begged us to come to his house later on. Billie was tempted.

A lawyer and some Australians

There's a rat-infested Mediterranean shisha bar in Soho that we used to hang out a lot in back in 2k7. One night there were no seats, so we joined this old fellas' table. He was a lawyer and after he had warmed up to us, he offered Billie her first line of coke. Two Australians he'd met at the bar then joined us, and he and gave us all baggies to entertain ourselves with. While Amy chatted with the Aussies, the lawyer whispered quotes from Lolita into Billie's ear, who at the time had never read the book or seen the film, and just kept giving fearful glances across the table as he chatted about her being the "fire of his loins". We moved on to 12 Bar, where he decided to tell us about his midlife crisis and how we'd "saved him" that night, which we were too wrecked to really appreciate. We got chucked out soon after that because Billie went to the bar not realising she looked like she'd just buried her face in a bag of flour. She spent the whole night twitching. You'd think that would put her off the stuff.

PHOTOS: AMY GREEN