I’ve been back in Newcastle almost two months now. I’m sure we can all agree that 2020 daygame was a pile of toss. Thank you very much Chinky communist cunts and your globalist stooges. I’m due reparations from the CCP scumbags and oh do I hope and pray that Trump cancels all the US debt they hold. Fucking scumbags.
Anyway, the irony wasn’t lost on me that I spent two years away from daygame getting my life and health back in order and “transitioning” to a post-daygame life only to find that when I decided to get back on the streets (April 1st) the chinks had gotten the whole world locked down. I managed about one month of total daygame in 2020, doing 95% of my year’s pitiful total of approaches in Moscow in September 
Maybe I’ll write more about my 2020 if there’s reader interest. For now it’s just a longwinded segue into what I’ve been doing in Newcastle: inching through my memoir. It’s now up to 145k words which puts it on a par with all the other volumes  and I’ve completed what I consider the “full draft”. That’s just my own silly term to mean I’ve (a) gotten the full chronological period covered and (b) hit my target word count. So I’m now onto the “second edit” meaning I start at the beginning of the manuscript and read through trying to clean it up and improve prose quality and pacing. Funnily enough, this is the stage where I find out what I’ve written. When writing the first draft I just start at the beginning and plod through, never re-reading completed chapters, so I quickly forget what I’ve written.
Here is a sample section from the first draft. This is how my writing looks at the first attempt. It’ll get cleaned up a bit on this next pass.
“Bro, I’ve got some time off work. Let’s go to Odessa,” he said.
I expressed my lack of interest.
“Tell you what, Big Bro,” he continued. “I’ll fly you down and pay for your hotel.”
That changed my mind.
So, on the tenth of June I boarded a flight at Warsaw’s Chopin airport to the Ukranian sea-side resort. As I watched the blanket of clouds beneath me I still couldn’t rustle up any enthusiasm. We soon dipped back through the clouds over the sparkling Black Sea and even a panorama of natural beauty did nothing for me. I was in a good mood- life was going well- but I had low expectations and had made the trip simply because Kenan had made things so easy.
Odessa airport was a tip. It was a barn-like Soviet-era monstrosity.
I shouldered my rucksack and stepped into the hot sunshine, following the signs to the airport transfer bus. I had to fend off a few taxi drivers who’d stepped out of the 1970s to solicit my fare. When I arrived at the bus stop I couldn’t quite believe it. The transfer terminal was, quite literally, a shack. The blue paint cracked on every surface exposing deep rust beneath. A paper was pinned on the wooded wall in Ukranian gibberish with what looked to be a timetable. After a half hour a battered minibus arrived and I jumped on. The driver never asked for a fare.
I walked on through to the back seat and looked out the window. The bus stopped a few more times headed into town, picking up a handful of passengers. I continued gazing out the window in awe at the grinding poverty of the Odessa suburbs. First I passed isolated broken-down farm houses and then the clustered hovels of gypsy camps. These gave way to battered tenements and eventually to the city centre. Here and there I noticed shopping malls, which appeared to be the only buildings in good repair.
Odessa was the dirtiest, most broken-down city I’d seen since Belgrade. Yet it lacked Belgrade’s charm.
It appeared completely un-daygameable from what I’d seen. The pavements were empty and noisy disorganised traffic shuttled past at high speed. The few plazas we passed were choked off by unruly traffic roundabouts and street sellers. I kept my spirits up by reminding myself many FSU cities are like this outside the old centre. It’s always the old centre that counts.
To my relief, when we finally pulled around the corner from my hotel, we were in the nice part of town. Kenan had gotten us a room each in a fancy-pants hotel, the Frapolli Hotel on Derybasivska street. It was a delightfully retro hotel with blue painted outer walls, an art deco metal and glass street-facing lounge restaurant, and small balconies overlooking the famous street.
“This is certainly the nice part of town,” I thought as I noted all the brand new flash cars parked outside. I’d left all the rattling Ladas and Yugos a few blocks back.
The hotel reception did not disappoint. There was a large brick fireplace in one corner with a few leather easy chairs pulled up in front and a grand piano next to it. A winding dark brown wooden staircase spiralled up to the guest rooms. On the other side of the staircase were more leather chairs and pleasant decorative wrought-iron pillars painted pastel red. Whatever happened, this would be a nice getaway from my typical daygame squalor.
It was not yet four in the afternoon and Kenan wasn’t due until eight, so I went outside for a look about. A few miles distant I saw some ominous-looking clouds but as yet the sky directly over my head was brilliantly clear. I walked around the block, checking out the footfall and vibe to see if their was daygame to be had. I remember Tom telling me of a trip he’d made to Odessa around 2013-ish. “Shite for daygame, mate. Grotty as fuck. No sets. I got really lucky with a same day lay.”
Not that I believed him, but let’s not flog that particular dead horse any more.
His assessment of daygame opportunities seemed spot on, though. I didn’t see a single hot girl. Nothing even to the standard of “at least it’s a notch” shaggable. I returned to the hotel and had a lie down.
Kenan arrived, brimming with positivity.
“Bro, let’s go out. I’ll buy you dinner.”
Kenan led the way to a nearby dining district composed of two long pedestrian streets lined with restaurants and with a long grassy park between them. The atmosphere was pleasant and I noticed it was popular with middle-aged couples and families with young children. It wasn’t at all popular with single women of shaggable age, however, and in the three hours we sat at an outside table to eat, I only got up once to do a set.
Little did I know, that would be my only daygame set of the trip.
The next day, it started raining heavily.
And I do mean heavily. For several hours Kenan and I sat in the hotel lobby looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows shaking our heads in disappointment.
“Bro, this is not good. Already we have the problem that we are slightly early for the holiday season. This does not help.”
The rain did stop by dinner time so we went out again to eat but there streets had been washed of any sets that might’ve been abroad. Kenan suggested we hit a nightclub. I wasn’t at all enthusiastic, having been singularly unimpressed with Kiev clubs, but Kenan did make the very reasonable case that Odessa is a resort town and all the best tottie would be at the beach-front area called Arcadia.
“This is where the beach and clubs are,” he said. “The girls sleep all day and then drive to the clubs. It is far from here, so they don’t walk the streets. We can get a taxi there. It is our best hope.”
I checked my watch. It was getting on the nine pm. I didn’t have any other plans, so I agreed. Anyway, Kenan was funding the whole trip so it would’ve been churlish to let him down on a Saturday night. We went back to the hotel to rest, aiming to hit the clubs around eleven.
While waiting in the lobby I couldn’t help but notice and exceedingly beautiful woman sitting on a chair across the room from me. Tall, leggy, and in fantastic gym-shape, she looked an absolute knock-out in her figure-hugging evening dress. She was as close to a ten as exists in the real world.
And she was looking at me.
It took me a little while to realise it, what with the ten metres or so between us, and that stunners never give out obvious IOIs like that. Once I realised she was indeed trying to catch my eye, I got up and walked over. She gave me a welcoming smile and indicated I could sit next to her. After a few sallies, I realised she couldn’t speak English.
A woman old enough to be her mum came over and helped translate.
“She says you look very nice,” said the old battle axe.
“Thank you. She too is pretty, though I’m worried because Ukranian girls are crazy.”
There was a short exchange in Slavic babble between the females and the battle axe turned back to address me.
“She says thank you but she is not crazy. Where are you from?”
By now, Kenan was coming down the spiral staircase. He looked over the bannister at me, assessed the situation, and then came over.
“This is a professional girl, my friend,” he said. “I think you prefer the club.”
Kenan was only confirming what I’d already figured out- when something looks too good to be true, it usually is. I have occasionally rattled very attractive women but not ever have they sat in hotel lobbies making fluttery eyes at my fat ass before I’ve even had a chance to begin my silver-tongued magic. I said good bye to the young lady and her madam. It was all quite polite.
A taxi pulled up outside.
“Mate, I’ve heard Odessa is pussy paradise but so far I’m very disappointed. That one whore aside, I see more fuckable women on Northumberland Street.”
“Where is this?”
“Don’t worry,” Kenan laughed. “I’m sure the nightclub will be better.”
If you don’t buy Daygame Overkill, you’re a bit of a daft cunt. It’s by far the best in-field coaching product out there.
1 – One lay with a 24-yr old stunner I picked up in Gipsy nightclub at 2am while drunk out of my mind and banged ten days later on first date. Again, the irony is not lost on me. Also two near misses with very hot young women, a few make outs, and a few dates to nowhere.
2 – Except for Balls Deep second edition which is a whopping 210k words.