In Which I Assess the Damage

Sure enough, it chucked it down yesterday. I don't think it was any exaggeration that I had somehow managed to style my hair so that it was better than any hairstyle beforehand, and any hairstyle afterwards. I began to don a saintly glow. I could have sworn I felt a halo attach itself to my head, my body started to smell of sanctity as I stepped outside- and then the heavens opened. My immaculately coiffured bonce was reduced to this. Here’s a thing. Why do they say “the heavens opened”? Surely that only makes sense if heaven is a giant swimming pool. Hmm.

Anyroad, an olde timey Routemaster bus (the 159 from Paddington to Streatham if you’re interested) was hired to take us to the venue, which seemed like overkill because there were only 16 or so of us. Still, it’s quite a novelty if you enjoy trundling down the A120 at the exact speed to maximise the fuel economy of an olde timey Routemaster bus. I have a slight suspicion that this was also to maximise the economy of the free-until-the-money-runs-out-bar. Seeing as I got there later than I would have liked, it was a race to the bar. The guy in front of me asked for a double spiced rum and coke, and was admonished by the bar staff that although it was a free bar, he shouldn’t take the piss. Schoolboy error, though what a schoolboy would be doing trying to get 40% ABV at a wedding I do not know. Anyway, I tutted disapprovingly. I got two single spiced rum and cokes for me and my friend, but ended up having to drink theirs due to the fact that they were fictitious. That’s how you do it.

W+A were particularly good value (as was the booze to start off with), and T seemed to be quite cheery. He was particularly proud to have managed to get the last free drink, or the last top up out of Saigon as I called it to anyone who would listen. His sister R was with a brace of her cousins, and I was arguing the point that, from an artistic point of view, Huey Lewis and the News’s “Power of Love” shits upon Kenny Loggins’s “Footloose” from a great height. “Come on,” I postulated. “Back to the Future makes Footloose look like Footloose!” Alas, none of them had seen Back to the Future before. I did write previously that I might try and crack on with R, but I couldn’t in all good conscience do so with a mouthful of vom (induced by her not having seen BTTF, not because I was pissed. Honest). Back to the Future is, as they say, a dealbreaker. However, someone there did take a shine to me. I was talking to her about when the government of 1992 withdrew the pound from the European Exchange Rate Mechanism due to the pounds devaluation because of fluctuating markets, as the youth of today are so fond of discussing. The fact that she liked me I gleaned from her body language, subtle signs like her twirling her hair, exposing her neck and dry humping my leg. I say dry humping, but there did seem to be an element of moisture for some reason. It’s nice to feel wanted.

As I predicted, THE FUCKING GREASE FUCKING MEGAMIX reared its ugly head, which was particularly unpleasant as I hadn’t had the requisite amount of alcohol to be able to cope with that sort of thing. So yours truly did what any right thinking person would do in that situation- crawl into a corner and assuming the foetal position, whilst my leg was being grinded (ground?) like a pole in some questionable gentleman's club. Anyway, D saw that I was soberish, and kindly got drunk enough for the both of us. He also vomited for the both of us when we were driven home by W+A. W had ostensibly pulled into a petrol station for some fuel, but I think that he knew D was about to show off the prowess of his digestive tract. There was a bit of a kerfuffle with the child locks (a borrowed car) but we managed to get D out before it managed to get out of D, so to speak. Sauntered into the shop to get some water for D and to get abused by the burly woman behind the counter. “Do you know that your friend is vomiting next to the bin? I hope he doesn’t expect me to clear it up.” Tempted to reply that she wasn’t important enough to even register on his consciousness, but decided against it as she looked like the sort of person who could murder someone and make it look like suicide. All in all, a good night. I suppose it was my density. I mean, my destiny. And if you don't get that reference, you've broken a deal.

Today's Tune