Remember that night we…

Ever notice the fun peeps are up the back of the bus when you were at school? Or perhaps outside smoking at functions or as you get older, or in the bathroom at parties with a credit card and dilated pupils.

Some of the best company I know are self indulgent mother fuckers who can cut up the rug and drink straight vodka all night. I can’t do a night with them all the time, for I no longer have the stamina, but god I love to sit courtside and watch the play.

As I am moving towards my fortieth birthday (fuck!) I know I will soon be invited to a slew of parties. Some will be staid, some debauched. Either way, I gotta to get my party pants on and go mild (depending on the company).

Some of the best parties I have been to are my own. There was a time when I would throw old school house parties, until the GFC burst my bubble. Start slow with great food and an arrival drink, invite lots of interesting people, move onto groovy tunes and then let the fun begin and no one is allowed to clean up during or after.

Why did I throw good parties? Because I enjoyed myself. I gave up my ‘hostess neurosis’ as soon as the tunes came on. My guests knew where the drinks were and the food and if you needed me I would be on the dancefloor, always with the Petticoat Government.

Nowadays my friends have small children so the partying days seem to be over, for the time being. I don’t mind so much. I’ve had my fill for a while.

Hell will come again in the form of a big night and bad company. Meanwhile I will enjoy the climate of peaceful heaven, even though it’s as boring as the bible.

Happy Sunday lovers.

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