I’m sitting in Zagreb airport sipping a Cedevita orange drink waiting for my gate call, one week after beginning this short jaunt out of London. An unexpected window opened up in my job schedule so with only a few day’s notice I’d gotten in touch with my top Belgrade girl and informed her of an impending whirlwind visit. Pre-framing myself that this wasn’t a gaming holiday I set myself easily attainable goals. Just frollick through the city with her for a few days, taking in the sights, smells and tastes while I catch up on my reading in the pavement cafes when she’s at university. That would be the first five days and then catch two days in Zagreb with my top girl there. I’d consider it a successful trip if I knocked over either girl, finished three books, and washed off the memory of work. I very much pre-framed myself out of doing daygame because I just didn’t want the pressure of relentlessly approaching ’till I got laid. This was about relaxation.

It turned out a little different.

First night I walk out my little private apartment and onto the main promenade to meet my girl (we’ll call her Myrka, after the porno actress she closely resembles), the streets bustling with the early evening crowd. Already my head is turning every minute as another beautiful Krauser girl totters past. London this is not. In the short walk to Coffee Dream I’ve seen at least twenty girls who excite me more than the girl I’m about to meet. It’s reminiscent of my July trip in Istanbul where I was walking around with my Turkish ex, a famous actress, and while every male head was turning to gawp at her my head was gawping at the young tight Turkish girls who made my blood bubble far more than the older lady I was with. I know there’s a problem. I shouldn’t feel like this on the way to a date with a girl I feel genuine affection for, a low-eight. Certainly not a grotty pump’n’dump candidate.

After eating in the traditional restaurant district I take Myrka home and fuck her. She’s completely deeply converted, more than willing to let me defile every orifice and treat her however I deem appropriate. But I just don’t have the will for it. I send her home and I’ve already lost interest in her. It’s not a nice feeling. Much soul searching follows.

My number two Serb confirms she’s not making the 4-hour trip from her hometown because she can’t face lying to her parents about it. I’ll get this girl next time but I’m not sure if I should. I’m feeling quite dark sided and uncomfortable with it.

Next day I can no longer resist so I knock out five or six sets until I get a weak-looking number from a smoking hot volleyball player (we’ll call her Maria, after the fitness model she closely resembles) and a dappy 18 year old tart I idate for an hour. The latter seems like a solid prospect but her mum calls and cockblocks. She goes on to facebook for long game and mummy’s visit means I don’t see her again this trip. I meet Myrka again to test my feelings, see if I’m just getting a low-libido revulsion and that I actually still fancy her but no, it’s gone. I’m cold. We watch the new Total Recall in the cinema and the whole time my mind is on hitting the streets to rustle up new targets. Secure Attachment Pug is off chasing cars, Relentless Notch Count Hyena is scratching at the door for the first time in months. I tell Myrka its over and she nearly collapses. A new alpha widow.

The third day rolls around and I try to recover my original plan, sipping coffee and working through my books. It’s impossible. Hot girls are everywhere. Not necessarily approacheable because Belgrade girls rarely walk solo but enough to keep my attention wandering. I see a hot solo girl go past and put down my book to give chase….. and some awkward asian guy flies past and opens her with a really clumsy street stop. Harrumph! Once you’ve daygamed you always recognise it so I look around for his coach and who may that be but James Marshall. I’m not letting these streets go uncontested! A smoking hot Krauser Girl ambles by and I claim her. Nice girl, but its not on. I do a few more sets and end up with another two numbers while Maria is returning my texts. She seems keen.

I’m at a low point now. It’s the first time in three years I’ve gamed a foreign country without a wing. Solo foreign daygame is hard. You have to really control your state. There’s a whole mix of emotions mostly trying to talk myself out of gaming (“this is meant to be a reading holiday”) knowing full well that my core is driving me to find new girls. Maria texts to say she’s finished university late (this is Friday evening) and is going home. My Hail Mary invite hits and she comes out to meet me late on. As she struts across Republica Square many heads turn and I congratulate myself inwardly. The date goes very well, stretching out till past midnight and several bars. She’s got a tight rein on herself so I know there’s no hope of a first night lay. Perhaps someone of Steve‘s calibre could pull it off, but I’m at the stage where knocking over eights is usually a multi-date challenge. Deep rapport goes beautifully and she really warms to the questions game telling me it’s a month since she had sex (her only ever sexual partner), she’s only ever kissed ten boys, and her most embarrassing secret is she likes to lock herself in the bathroom and dance to her ipod. The date ends with a non-committal peck on the lips but I know this girl is well into me. A couple more dates and there’ll be another deep conversion. My mood has lifted.

Saturday comes and I struggle out of bed at noon. I’m still having the internal to-daygame-or-not-to-daygame struggle. As I walk to Coffee Dream for late breakfast the choice is made for me when another cute Krauser Girl goes by. Another number. Over coffee Maria texts to request a second date within the hour. Ok, suits me. James Marshall walks past me with another student so I introduce myself then head off to the date.

I have the most enjoyable afternoon of the trip, walking along the river, through quaint streets, sharing coffee, sitting in the park. It’s five hours of delightful company with Maria on my arm. My ego loves how many passersby clock us and head turn. Every time a hot girl does it I go into my little chick crack routine:

• Me: I know what she’s thinking, you know
• Her: What?
• Me: She’s looking at you and thinking “how the hell did she find a guy like him? where can I get one?”

I still don’t fuck her but this is Belgrade not LA. She asks for my email and we’ve been chatting since. So I leave Belgrade having upgraded my local girl from a low-eight to a high-eight. I feel mercenary. The bus trundles on towards Zagreb and I have low expectations for the two days I’ll be there. No time to game and only 70% sure my top target will turn up as promised on the last day (she’s off in her hometown for the weekend)…. to be continued…..