Last night was a complete riot for Katy’s hen do. 10 ladies and 4 gayers to the flat for Prosecco and Cava with raspberries and a simple spread laid on by yours truly of fanzy* crisps, biccies and olives. Then a banquet at East on Faulkner Street in Chinatown. Veggie food good with beaucoup salty seaweed which always makes me think of deep fried cassette tape. Yum. Then to The Birdcage for high jink and drag and pop pop pop! Joffrey and Keenos OWNED the dancing last night. God there were some sights , wall to wall hen nights so you can imagine the scene. Never seen so many ill-fitting bras. We had a complete laugh, drank foul-smelling Grolsch, danced like utter bitches including on the slag-pole which Katy turned out to be a natural at (and her an ex church singer!), touched up straight boys and generally were despicable. Such fun. On the troll home I paid the saxophone man outside Primark a whole two pounds for a reprise of his Cagney and Lacey, my all-time favourite TV theme, and we dance some more. Night ends with me piggybacking Sarah then literally pouring her into a cab and pinballing home with Neil.
This morning was a blissful hungover morning with the monkey, of the kind I love. He really is the most amazing and wonderful person I know and will blush furiously reading this but I don’t care. It’s like a part of me has been hacked off when he’s not around, which is often, since he is busy PhD-ing and we don’t live together, but I think I appreciate him all the more for it.
Am completely in love with last fm. Have just been spazzed to death by amazing Autechre track on there. It’s like a foreign language in parts. If you like Autechre you might also like Secede, Proem, Ochre, Bola, Arovane, Ilkae … They sound like Tolkien characters. Don’t fancy the idea of friending anyone though, I’m not using it to network, but being able to flit between all this wonderful unheard music at the click of a mouse is something my fifteen year old self would literally have given an arm for. Lots of talk of dismemberment today, forgive me.
Have to be back in the boozer in less than an hour for Stag drinking festivities. My planned-for disco kip hasn’t happened and I look and probably smell appalling. 'Like Bigfoot’s dick', to quote my friend Kirsty. Still, can’t let the boys side down can I? My, I am marauding with the heterosexual masses this weekend aren't I? I love it. Thank God for bank holidays.
Soundtrack: ‘Set the Fire to The Third Bar’, Hercules and Love Affair, Enya ‘Book of Days’ (I’m suddenly addicted to this one song, I’ve no idea why …), The Concretes, especially ‘Chosen One’
*fanzy, as opposed to just plain fancy, is our lingo for when something is right special. You’d say ‘I fancy that boy’ but, like, a cake with all sparklers stuck in it would be fanzy, thus emphasising it’s innate fanciness.