Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Tuesday, December 23, 2003

Party Favour

I appear to be back at work. How dashedly inconvenient. You take just one Sudafed too much and you have no idea what you get up to!

Yes, your ruler ails again - a foul sickness that has taken hold of my nose and decided it should try and constantly empty it so it can make more room for boxes, one believes. You know the worst thing about having a continually runny nose? Having a goatee below it. Yes, think on that while you tuck into your lunchtime baguette.

My dear Wife has been an absolute star, as always, mopping my fevered brow and cooing show tunes to me to calm my raddled nerves. His healing hands deserve an award - they really do - as his laying on left well enough to attend A Very Gay Party on Sunday eve. As it was only to be around the corner from my fabulous Peckham palace, I grabbed some cocktail cherries and (what I believed to be) a handkerchief, and staggered up the road.

In one respect it was nice to meet so many new people, although I did initially wonder why they all kept giving me knowing looks and saying “Oh, so, you like to be pissed on, do you? And then clean it up?” which I must say is a very forward thing to ask of a gentleman, even in this uncouth day and age. Now, I’ve never engaged in any watersports of any kind, unlike my vaguely filthy evil best friend Declan. He was invited to by his then partner who was lounging in the empty bathtub at that point, and Declan being Declan thought it would be a jolly good laugh. And besides, this fellow wasn’t the most hygienic at the best of times so Declan’s 90% proof piss must have been like Calvin Klein to him.

It gave us all a good laugh down the local hostelry one evening as he told the story. It also earned him the moniker ‘Voldermort’ as now he’s most certainly had a slash on someone’s forehead.

Anyway. Back to me at a fabulous party. I was chatting away to all sorts of delightful people at this do, including one mary who has now redefined the term ‘theatrical’ for me. A gentleman of a certain age, his gestures were all hands, his voice pitched perfectly to reach to the back of the room. He even worked in the box office of a west end theatre, and told a delightful story of when he’d been out on the sauce at a showbiz party. He’d finished drinking at three, got to work for ten-fifteen. By ten-thirty, he was lying at the bottom of his box, flat as if he were in a coffin. By eleven, his eyes shot open at the sound of tapping on the glass at his window, and saw a rather worried woman staring down at him. He sat up, heaved himself into his chair and without an ounce of expression on his face said “I’m sorry. I fell down.”

I adore that, and him. He spent the rest of the night wrapped in a curtain singing Sunset Boulevard to anyone who went near, only pausing mid-chorus to ask me whether I like being wee’d upon before asking whether I like cleaning for people too. Before I could answer, he’d launched into a new number and was gone for the rest of the night. I was finding all this most perturbing and took the host aside to ask him why. With raised eyebrows, he asked why else would I have a yellow hankie in my back pocket, that on closer inspection turns out to be a cleaning duster.

That will teach me to grope for a handkerchief in the dark, won’t it just.

So the night wore on and Steps were played. I am aware it is foolish to drink with a cold still present, but I was reluctantly pressed upon to partake in the hilarious healthy side-options of alcohol. Just a little, said I. And make sure it’s a spirit. Now there’s only a few things that come in tots: whiskey and Michael Jackson (tatty-boom! I thank-ya!) but what I believed to be one glass of medicinal, life-giving whiskey turned out to be somewhat more: as soon as I put the glass down, it was topped up by my mischievous hosts. So the one glass I did drink ended up to be several.

It was all very embarrassing. I went to get my mobile phone from the back bedroom and awoke in the pile of coats some time after. Rolling around on the fake Prada and fun-furs, I became aware of another person in the room, standing by the door in puzzled bemusement.

I said: “I’m sorry. I fell down,” flicked my hair and left.

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