Friday: We really should be ashamed of ourselves ... almost eight months after moving into the flat, Meg, Luke and I still hadn't thrown a proper bash. So that was set to with a vengeance. Scores of our nearest and dearest popped over to help "wet the baby", to borrow a celebratory phrase, and we did indeed do so. I sensibly stuck to beer while all manner of other beverages were consumed around me (a hell of a lot also being left behind - my liver thanks you in advance). An elaborate cocktail involving a watermelon and a lot of vodka was concocted using every kitchen utensil known to humanity. Martinis were poured. Martini glasses were broken, to cries of "I bought those at Heal's dammit!". Food was consumed via osmosis at hitherto unheard of speeds. Nero and Poppaea tidied up while Rome burned, and eventually I retired with a large vodka, blue curaçao and orange juice - a suitable shade of Hallowe'en green - to drink myself to sleep. It was a marvellous night.
Saturday: Peggy Sue Jonathan got married registered! After emerging from bed more than a little dishevelled, I attempted to decide what to wear to that afternoon's festivities. The dilemma essentially boiled down to tie versus no tie. Why do I own three ugly ties? No tie it was. Arrive roughly on time to see David and meet Marcus and twinning nicely they were too! Mmm, champagne ... don't mind if I do. Repeatedly. The rest of the troops arrived shortly thereafter to a fabulously decorated Retro Bar (Wendy truly outdid herself) and proceedings began in earnest. There was barely a dry eye in the house by the end of the day - it was all just too sweet really, even for a non-sap like myself.
The masses retired to Barcode afterwards to be immediately harrassed by an unruly mob of Scottish lesbians (I quizzed Ian about the collective noun for a group of unruly Scottish lesbians ... he wasn't sure). Well, the kilted ones did anyway. More drinking there, then with Long-Time-No-See-Rob who had new beau in teau (Christ, you'd think it was Spring or something the way people are shacking up faster than a revolving door at a Las Vegas wedding parlour). And then it was to Stockwell, for Andy and Wade's flatmate departure/arrival party (bye to Duncan, hello to Johnny). Oh, and more beer too. And stumbling. And smoking too much. And leaving just as things were kicking off. Busy busy.
Sunday: Mmmm. Feel really healthy. Well, time for just one more engagement this weekend: Linda's birthday party at Inigo on Wandsworth Road. It's been a year since I'd seen most of that gang - one fucking year! I could barely believe it. So we settled down to drink beer in inimitable Noo Zullun style - comfy sofas and beanbags abounded. The birthday girl hugged her new monstrous Zippy pyjama case like it was going out of style. And of course, I drank more than I had on the previous days. Fool! Just managed to hold it all down on the tube trip back (isn't that the most helpless feeling in the world?) and collapsed into bed shortly thereafter. As one of the attendees put it yesterday, "Staff handover not so good when you keep forgetting what you are talking about mid sentence".
And the moral of the story? You tell me and we'll both know.
‹ 7.11.01
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