Dreadful Nonsense

[Backdating this post means that I can write about the party we will be going to tonight, in full and frank knowledge of what will be happening later on this evening, time wise. Blogging is nothing if not slightly confusing, unless you blog yourself, in which case it really isn't.]

Ah, Christmas. A horrific time of year if, like me, you don't enjoy spending money on other people, and absolutely loathe getting dressed up and having to go socialise with people you work with. I've almost completely avoided the latter half of these twin horrors by not having a job for OVER AN ENTIRE YEAR (lord, I don't know how I managed that). But unfortunately, fate had something else in store for me, and without realising what I was letting myself in to, I agreed to attend a social function with He Who Only Reads This Blog To See If He's Mentioned.

I didn't think this through. A couple of weeks back, I started to think this through, and realising I have no lady clothes whatsoever, I had a fashion show round Moo's house, because Moo is a lady and has lady's clothes. We all agreed on one outfit, which involved what I believe is referred to as a halterneck top (meaning shoulders on full display like some kind of Victorian whore). As the night approached, though, I started freaking out, feeling like Eliza Dolittle or Martine McCutcheon, like I wasn't a real lady and everyone would see through the facade.

Are you getting the feeling that I might be a bit mental? Because I am.

Anyhoo. In the end I still wore the pre-appointed top, and all was well, and the party was actually quite the success and not at all what I'd been expecting, and not as scary as I thought it would be, and quite frankly a truly surreal experience.

We were sat at the "comedy table", where all the comedians and their husbands, wives and drunken partners were sat. I was sitting beside a GOD OF COMEDY, a phrase that must be written in capital letters in order that you understand the importance of quite how legendary this comedian is. Kris was kind enough to keep whispering in my ear everything the man had ever done or achieved in his career, so as to make it more difficult for me to make small talk with him about the menu or quality of the wine.

After the dinner was served, eaten and cleared away, though, that's when the fun really started. The mingling began, you see, and all the truly truly famous that had previously been separated from us were suddenly descending in ever increasing numbers. A very famous celebrity chef came over and had a long and sincere conversation about the importance of having the right kind of frying pan, but not before declaring the importance of having the right kind of spliff. Someone else brought up the subject of nits and then regaled us with tales of using his daughter's nit comb to run the conditioner through his downstairs big-boy hair. A third celeb then declared that he's very difficult to buy presents for, but makes up for that by being - these are his exact words - "very good at eating pussy" (and that will bring me all kinds of new readers for the holidays! Hi perverts! Welcome!).

Seriously. It was like sitting through a Popbitch mailout, all being played in real time. Celebrities are very very friendly people after one or ten drinks. I think I spent the vast majority of my time looking slightly stunned. There I was, dressed in Moo's finest, and all around me was smut and debauchery. If only I'd had a camera.

This entry was posted on 20 December 2004 at 2:21 pm. 0 comments

Dreadful Nonsense

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