FREQUENT TRAVELLER

In which our correspondent assumes the identity of a single man and paints the town red – at least that’s the intention

A married business traveller pretends to be single for a weekend

I HAVE A CONFESSION TO MAKE: I have lied to my wife. A few weekends ago I could have come home from a trip by Friday night but I lied to her, saying,“there are some loose ends I have to tie up”. After I hung up the phone, I stayed in my hotel room for the entire Friday evening and much of Saturday, lying around watching movies, flipping through TV channels, using every feature in the luxury marbled bathroom, ordering room service – specifically a big slab of red meat that I have been forbidden to eat at home – and reading a classic Ludlum thriller.

I love my wife, so I felt really bad lying to her. But I just really wanted – no, needed – one weekend where I could be me, without the kids screaming in the background or bringing me another hamster they’ve just tortured to death. I craved a sit-down dinner devoid of spaghetti being thrown on the floor or, worse still, in my face.

We have six-year-old twin boys and a little girl who is four, and they are little angels when they are on their best behaviour. But when one acts up, the domino effect comes into play and the decibel level in my house quickly reaches that of Heathrow at midday. The morning routine is the worst: unless I wake up at 5am to get to the gym by 6am, I will be closing the door in the middle of “The Phantom of Screaming” starring the three little ones, my wife and the helper.

Back to my stolen weekend: by the end of Saturday my mind had started to unwind, and I was ready to venture out. What should I do? I decided to go clubbing.Yes, clubbing. I didn’t even have the appropriate clothes for it, but heck, I was in a happening town and there was no stopping me. Not wanting to be judged by the concierge, I turned to the internet and Googled“trendy clubs”in town. I knew I was way past the age to be a“hipster”, but I thought for one night at least, I would not be one of those“older gentlemen ”having a nightcap in the hotel bar before heading up to bed.

I had housekeeping press my shirt, put on my jeans and loafers, put my wedding ring in the safe and headed out. The first recommended spot actually had bouncers, and charged an entry fee that cost the price of a dinner. I hesitated, thinking,“Is this one of those places where if you don’t look ‘cool’ enough, the guy on the door will turn you away?” I risked such humiliation in my 20s all the time, but in my late 40s, I simply couldn’t face the possibility. I am a respected executive for goodness sake.

Luckily, the second recommendation was just down the block. There were no bouncers here, just a counter to offload my wallet for a glow-in-the-dark wristband. Inside, music was pumping and some people were dancing – while others were trying to. I quickly scanned the crowd to make sure that I wouldn’t stand out like a dad showing up to fetch my grounded child home. The clientele was on the young side, but it was dark enough, and for my age I am pretty fit, so I felt safe enough to venture in.

“Wa’ can I getcha?”the barman asked after skidding over, the look on his face seeming to say, “Be quick or you lose your chance”.“A Manhattan, please,”I replied swiftly. Was that a sneer as he skidded away to make my drink? I became paranoid. I thought to myself,“He must be thinking,‘What’s grandpa doing here ordering a drink from the vintage cocktail book?’”But I got my drink, and looked around, trying to decide what to do.

I might be a bit rusty at clubbing, but I knew that standing around alone would not make me attractive. So I steeled myself to exchange smiles with my fellow club-goers – and got a smile back from one of them. I was about to walk up to say “Hi”, when my body froze at the thought:“What’s the right pick-up line these days, one that won’t expose me as an outmoded charlatan?”

The last time I had to think of one was more than ten years ago, and even then I wasn’t very good at it. I’ve heard people use “Did it hurt? You must be an angel fallen from heaven”… but really? Has anyone actually researched if that line has ever, ever worked?

I was starting to get dizzy, not from the drink but from the lack of oxygen. I had forgotten the unappealing aspect of clubs – the stuffiness and the mildew-like scent that is a mixture of sweat, spilled drinks and many other contributions. I was ready to head back to the hotel alone.

A quick cab ride later, I was in a much better place: my hotel room. As I surfed TV channels again in bed and enjoyed the room’s jasmine scent, I realised that the only way one can be content is to act one’s age and enjoy the present. I was ready to go back to my family.