Friday, December 14, 2001
It's my party...
So it happened, it all worked out - largely thanks to the very lovely Uncle Meat getting me a crack DJ team together at the last minute, with brilliant results - so thanks too to Dorian, Carlos, James and Malc, especially for being brave enough to play some of MY records...it must have been a while since The Full Moon had heard Don't Call Me Baby by Voice of the Beehive.
And more pressies (including a homemade 'Kiss Me Quick' hat, which everyone wore at some point in the evening), and lots of lovely Zubrowka... then I got rhythm - stand well back... >You Can't Hurry Love (twice), Northern Lites, lots of bouncy ska... and I ended up being twirled round and round to You're The One That I Want by a colleague not normally famed for his love of cheesy 70s pop.
...and I'll cry if I want to
But then there's always a boy with a pin to burst your bubble...and there he was, and he did - unconsciously perhaps, but to devastating effect.
'Sad girl, I've always been a sad girl
I never was a bad girl, just a sad girl, that's what I am
Now I can start crying without even trying
It's easy as pie - see this tear in my eye?...' Amy Allison
You would cry too, if it happened to you. Fortunately I am blessed with friends willing to spend an hour or more trying to console a drunk, sobbing birthday girl, which is exactly what you need when alcohol, hormones and birthday blues are blowing things out of all proportion. And I found myself in a club, and (ropey R&B and hip hop aside) there were a couple of magic moments there - even I couldn't stay miserable for Signed, Sealed, Delivered and - here my cup overflows - The Jackson 5's I Want You Back.
And there were some moments of comic relief - everyone's favourite Bavarian, Aunty Péa, staggering tipsily into the road in front of a parked police van full of coppers and cooing 'Oh, hellooooooo...', then trying to board a courtesy coach full of party goers outside the Thistle Hotel...how I love her. And at 3am, Matthew, the host with the most, mortified because despite being able to offer me four kinds of tea, he has no milk...
'I don't wake up with a sudden start,
Just some empty arms and a broken heart...'
Saturday: Not hungover but still feeling kinda bruised. But TLC is on the way. Visitors descend on me from Southampton, Tunbridge Wells and Crawley, bearing gifts. Tree is suitably outraged by the size of the (diminutive) birthday knickers the Gorgeous Blonde has bought me. She and Camel have chosen well too - a year's worth of Elle Decoration...how I love flicking through its glossy pages, pausing occasionally to mutter, 'Well, I could do that myself', or shriek, 'How much?!'. Baadad steps up with a copy of Willy Russell's The Wrong Boy - about a lad who is obsessed with Morrissey. This from the man who has to pay his colleagues 10p every time he sings in the style of Mozzer...
The girls get sequinned-up and Baadad drives us, in slinky borrowed motor, to deepest Hove, for chips & Chablis at the fantastic Bankers Fish Restaurant. The waitress asks him, admiringly, how he managed to get four women to come out to dinner with him. His harem maintain an enigmatic silence...let's hear it for the boyo!
Post a Comment
So it happened, it all worked out - largely thanks to the very lovely Uncle Meat getting me a crack DJ team together at the last minute, with brilliant results - so thanks too to Dorian, Carlos, James and Malc, especially for being brave enough to play some of MY records...it must have been a while since The Full Moon had heard Don't Call Me Baby by Voice of the Beehive.
And more pressies (including a homemade 'Kiss Me Quick' hat, which everyone wore at some point in the evening), and lots of lovely Zubrowka... then I got rhythm - stand well back... >You Can't Hurry Love (twice), Northern Lites, lots of bouncy ska... and I ended up being twirled round and round to You're The One That I Want by a colleague not normally famed for his love of cheesy 70s pop.
...and I'll cry if I want to
But then there's always a boy with a pin to burst your bubble...and there he was, and he did - unconsciously perhaps, but to devastating effect.
I never was a bad girl, just a sad girl, that's what I am
Now I can start crying without even trying
It's easy as pie - see this tear in my eye?...' Amy Allison
You would cry too, if it happened to you. Fortunately I am blessed with friends willing to spend an hour or more trying to console a drunk, sobbing birthday girl, which is exactly what you need when alcohol, hormones and birthday blues are blowing things out of all proportion. And I found myself in a club, and (ropey R&B and hip hop aside) there were a couple of magic moments there - even I couldn't stay miserable for Signed, Sealed, Delivered and - here my cup overflows - The Jackson 5's I Want You Back.
And there were some moments of comic relief - everyone's favourite Bavarian, Aunty Péa, staggering tipsily into the road in front of a parked police van full of coppers and cooing 'Oh, hellooooooo...', then trying to board a courtesy coach full of party goers outside the Thistle Hotel...how I love her. And at 3am, Matthew, the host with the most, mortified because despite being able to offer me four kinds of tea, he has no milk...
Just some empty arms and a broken heart...'
Saturday: Not hungover but still feeling kinda bruised. But TLC is on the way. Visitors descend on me from Southampton, Tunbridge Wells and Crawley, bearing gifts. Tree is suitably outraged by the size of the (diminutive) birthday knickers the Gorgeous Blonde has bought me. She and Camel have chosen well too - a year's worth of Elle Decoration...how I love flicking through its glossy pages, pausing occasionally to mutter, 'Well, I could do that myself', or shriek, 'How much?!'. Baadad steps up with a copy of Willy Russell's The Wrong Boy - about a lad who is obsessed with Morrissey. This from the man who has to pay his colleagues 10p every time he sings in the style of Mozzer...
The girls get sequinned-up and Baadad drives us, in slinky borrowed motor, to deepest Hove, for chips & Chablis at the fantastic Bankers Fish Restaurant. The waitress asks him, admiringly, how he managed to get four women to come out to dinner with him. His harem maintain an enigmatic silence...let's hear it for the boyo!
Post a Comment
