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

Thursday, October 28, 2004

The Birthday Invite

Yesterday afternoon:
(phone rings)

Me: Hello?
The Wife: It's me. We've been invited to a party tonight. Champagne, fabulous fabulous people.
Me: Aww, I can't. I promised I'd do something else.
The Wife: The invite is printed on Perspex.
(a pause)
The Wife: (cont) Just like something out of Blake's 7.
Me: What time's it start?
The Wife: Around nine.
Me: Say 'Nine O'Space-Clock'.
The Wife: 'Nine O'Space-Clock'.
Me: I'll be there.


Yesterday evening:
The Opium Rooms. A place where they couldn't play Girls Aloud as it would have been a far too knowing comment on the clientele. The birthday girl - who I had no idea who she was - had decided that she was coming as Alison Goldfrapp and had done her hair by dropping her toaster in the bath with her. She was the perfect example of what works on the styled printed pages of a magazine does not work in real life, especially when surrounded by every other woman dancing in the High Street's 'finest'.

Apparently we couldn't take pictures. The official reason was 'there is an official photographer', but I feared that setting off a camera flash near all that prime New Look polyester... It may ignite the static and start a stadium fire.

And - get this - she'd only hired the club so she could do a live PA! It was like a sheep being raped! So while she warbled her way through some tunes which obviously meant something to her and her three trollish mates thanks to last year's holiday to Ibiza, The Wife and I sat up the back and tried to nick as much champagne as possible. Oh, it wasn't free, but the Wife's very light-fingered when he wants to be, as you can imagine. Anyway, she finished her set and the audience gave her that polite 'clap... clap-clap... clap...' - and one cry of 'Make the bad noise stop!' - and we were so pissed by that point that we went dancing. And ended up between three women, one of who apparently had fake breasts and we had to keep having to guess which one of the trio it was. Which involved a lot of breast squeezing in front of some straight lads, which is always fun. Anyway, the one with the fakes, she was fab - she spends her days as a topless, painted human statue at weddings.

Which was nice.

I am now thoroughly broken, so you can entertain yourself for a couple of hours. Go on. Be off with you.

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