Yesterday Heike foolishly
kindly organised a select shindig chez elle featuring the usual suspects
(Daves#1 and 2, Jo, Dan J, Tanya and Matt, Alice, Steve, Allan and Martin). She
made a scrumptious dinner of prawn cocktail (crisps), confit de twiglets
accompanied by a coulis of salted peanuts and Alice brought along an
actually delicious citron parfait with almond biscotti (lemon
cream dip and biccys). We’re gonna party like it’s 2005/06! The gathering split into
two fluid groups; the front room had dancing to the likes of Bucks Fizz and Boney
M and the back room was playing the Festive 50
from 1986 (bought on MP3 CD from ebay) and discussing Deep Things, which
led Dave to dub the room The Think Tank, except he got a little confused and
called it The Alan Smith Thinktank (considering such epic notions as: hair dye,
the Pennines and kissing the badge).
As previously mentioned, my liver and kidneys can no longer process
alcohol and after quaffing cava, white Russians, vodka and cranberry, home made
mix of rum, tequila, vodka and orange, champagne, a cup of tea, two paracetamol
and codeine tabs and two glasses of water, I’m conked and zonked out and we
leave about 2.30, me slightly worried that the bus drivers will have come out
on strike in sympathy with the dang tube drivers. Sitting in a Hackney bus-stop
in the drizzle eating chocolates and watching drunken revellers kick phone
boxes is an odd way to start the year. Finally the slightly swerving bus turns
up and I sigh with relief as home is only a few minutes away, until we get to
Dalston and a traditional New Years Eve murder has led to the road being sealed
off and the bus driver has an “everybody off” look on his face, until David rushes
to the front and directs him up Stoke Newington High St, down Church St and via
Albion Road to Newington Green, all the time chatting to the passengers and
reassuring the driver who doesn’t look like he could find a piss-up in Camden.
Dave has so missed his vocation as a bus conductor.
Anyway, happy New Year, the
kids.
