The Guys
Casuals
Carousers
Bucks
Shaggers
Gropers
Headhunters
Mutants
Yobbos
Enigmas
Dilettantes
Revellers
Addicts
You guys can run, but you can't hide! The Reveller has been quietly observing you from his corners of the bars, and has identified no fewer than thirteen distinct types. The good, the bad and the ugly, the mortal clay of humanity, here you are - warts and all - observed and categorised by the Reveller.
These are the silent majority of Blok M, the guys who just drop in for an occasional drink and a chat. Immune to the allurements of the girls, they quietly relax and enjoy the ambience before wandering off home.
Dedicated drinkers who whoop it up with unrestrained relish and wild abandon, these are the Falstaffs of the Blok. Flirt quite outrageously with the girls, joke and laugh with gusto, backslapping their way through the night into the early hours.
Young, brash, full of energy and oozing self-confidence, they strut their stuff around the discos and quickly latch on to the prettiest (and choosiest) sweet young things. Usually moderate drinkers and kind-hearted guys, they treat the girls well.
A dedicated band of brothers, these are the older guys who play the field with incredible stamina and for the sheer enjoyment of it. Although out most nights, they don't stay long in any one bar - just surface to take in air, line up another consort, and then plunge back into the depths. Very popular with the girls, as they're kind and generous and treat them with respect.
These are the guys who like to go physical in the darker recesses of the bars, preferring fumbling to tumbling. Often seen wrapped around a couple of the more cuddly girls, enjoying the tactile pleasure of nubile young bodies. They rarely (if ever) go with the girls, but ply them with drinks and tip them well at the end of the evening.
Braggarts who rate their success by the number of conquests they clock up, and boast loudly about how many girls they take at a time. Dedicated Lotharios, they change girls like they change their socks. Wandering round the bars, their usual pick-up line is to point at a girl and invite her to get moving. The girls don't like them very much - cynical and unromantic, they often treat the girls like machines and don't appreciate that they have feelings.
Guys with libidos on overdrive, supercharged sex drives and testosterone way off the scale, these are the Blok M rutters and fornicators par excellence. They tend to frighten the sweet young things, but the slightly older good-time girls really go for these guys.
These are the louts who pour into the bars in a drunken gang, pissed out of their skulls and a serious navigation hazard. Their speciality is raucous off-tune singing, often followed by a dropping of trousers and running round the bar to whoops and cheers from their cronies. Occasionally take to the dance floor, where they gyrate unsteadily and do a clumsy strip-tease until they're either dragged off by their mates or stagger away to answer a call of nature.
The mystery men. There they are most nights, usually alone or with a long-time buddy or two, but nobody seems to know much about them - their occupations, origins, anything. They occasionally chat with the girls and the bar staff, but keep to themselves. They don't drink a lot, don't chase the girls, but enjoy the atmosphere and mellow introspectively as the night draws on.
Dabblers rather than doers, these guys drink a bit, flirt a bit, carouse a bit - but not with that lusty dedication that marks out the true reveller. The girls like them because they're quietly appreciative and good company, but don't hang around for very long as these guys are window-shoppers.
A Rabelaisian mix of the Carouser and the Shagger, for them the festivity is everything - the drama and the spectacle are paramount. They're slightly anarchic individuals, with a wicked sense of humour and an irreverent tongue - great appreciators of wine, women and song, and keen observers of the Blok M pageant.
These are guys who haunt the Blok every night, don't want (and can't afford) a girl, but are drawn there like sailors to a siren singing on a rock. They hang around with a look of pure desperation in their eyes and glare daggers if anyone so much as says hello to "their" favourite girl of the week - but they've no intention of actually doing anything with her.
The Mutants
These guys are the Jekyll and Hydes of the Blok. Looking like eugenic failures, genetic experiments that have gone horribly wrong, they'd scare most young girls senseless if they met them on a dark street - but place them in the upstairs bar at D's and they suddenly take on a close resemblance to Brad Pitt.