Friday, 26 September 2008

The Most Beautiful Man (2)

Plaza Serrano. I invite these guys looking for a seat to join us. One of them, mid twenties, tall, blond, impeccably dressed (subtle fifties stylings – a great cardy) is quite possibly the most beautiful man I have ever encountered. He is also an accountant and, though I run the risk of being clich├ęd as well as judgemental and envious, he was in possession of what can only be described as the David Beckham effect. He’s beautiful,  but just a bit dull. (Though in being so I can thank him in no small regard for preserving the sovereignty of my heterosexuality). Throughout our short exchange I truly had to fight the temptation to say; ‘please don’t speak. I just want to look at you’. Nezih breaks the ice asking them if they are from Sweden. I don’t look at him for fear of laughing. They are quite simply too Swedish for the question. As Nezih said later, the guy would be a Nazi’s wet dream….

His poor brother, largely as absent from this anecdote as he was from my attention at the time, is sat beside him. A good enough looking chap in all other contexts. He’s as tall and as blond as his sibling but comparatively (and it is impossible not to compare) a bit lanky with wonky teeth and acned skin. (Eyes upward. I'm sorry) Franky he looked as hypnotised by his brother as I imagine we probably did. I couldn’t help noting that he (the brother) was pursuing a career in law and thinking, by extension, that he must have needed to get at least one thing up on his brother in life.