double benders inc.

Fuck me.
I partied this weekend like it was 2006. (And I'm still hanging from 2006.) Two parties, with my ever-adorable new flatmate – what a beeyoot – of monolithic proportions.

Party One – Martha Stewart's Housewarming party at our place.

Third Roommate even came, which was amazing since I thought he'd died or something. Hasn't changed much. Still chirps me like a king: (“Dude, please get me a drink?” Him: Hmmm. Please suck my knob?)
Ant came through from the Poenda, and we ended up getting whoringly drunk, rolling round on the floor, snogging cushions, and then singing, no ska-reaming, karaoke at 3:00am.

Martha Stewart was on form, and joined the Ant and I in our usual capacity to have Dance Offs when we're shitfaced. She's really fitting in well here.

Mrs Abdul and her 300 children must've loved us, two doors down.

Turns out Mr 747 is a bit of a microphone hogger. He's that kid, bless. We woke up the next day – devastation around us – to find that one of our mates chundered on my electric keyboard. Nice chaps. Who the fuck was it – own up. It wasn't a spilt drink, the texture of this could only be one thing: vomay. Now own up fuckers. Lost my house keys amongst the debauched detritus, and Mr 747 and I had to break out of my flat, which was amusing.

Party Two – Around The World.

Rhodes people are funny hey. I can't seem to get enough of the buggers (having readily filed my way through Eastern Cape farmers quite extraordinarily over the past two years...Mr 747 included), but they do this thing where they turn every room in their digs' into a destination. You drink in every country. It's unbelievably brilliant.

Austria was strewn with paper shredding for snow, The States had two doors painted as the World Trade Centres with an inflatable aeroplane wedged between them, while Mexico – oh my aching tequila bottle. They put heaters on there, and then locked us in. Schvitzy and a little unpleasant, but hysterical.

Martha Stewart – this chick is good value - jumped off the roof into the swimming pool.

They set up an “aeroplane” in the lounge, gave us a shot glass as our “passport”, then guided us around the house. Zimbabwe was the compost heap at the bottom of the garden, and two buxom young things fell in there. South Africa was the garage, where we had to down a Sowetan Toilet. (It was triffic.) Then there was Brazil, where the guy – Drawers - cut vines from his mother's garden and hung them around his room as the 'Amazon.'

I met a dude called Crappy.

They're a special bunch these Rhodes people. My mate kept on screaming, “A U! A U! A-UCT!” which was mostly ignored, but well done for trying babe.
I'm still hanging.

PS: It's Mr 747's birthday today. Happy birthday Gringo.

two very different parties

Party 1, Friday, 19h30
Location: Killarney Golf Club
Dress code: black tie
Occasion: 95th birthday party

Wow. Not many people get to go to 95th's, let's not jest. I scrubbed up all elegant and joined Big T to this lady's birthday bash. What an amazing woman she is. Sharp as knife, parties like she's 30 (apparently was still going strong at 1:30am, about the time I – the party pooper – was long asleep). Champagne was flowing, my dress was falling down, everything was beautiful. And on the opposite side of the social spectrum, we have:

Party 2, Saturday 7ish
Location: A digs
Dress code: chav, minger, pikey, asbo
Occasion: digs party

When it says 'dress up party,' I either go balls to the wall or don't dress up at all. Klo stuffed a pillow into her belly (and needed to pee every five seconds....it was, like, she was hexperiencing a real pregnancy, which is well bad); I looked like I'd stepped out of a council house in Croydon.

Then the unthinkable happened. We arrived, and nobody had really dressed up.
(Yet.)

Klo freaked out at the gate, “Oh my God...please take me home, oh my God.”) I felt a bit stupid, since I'd insisted that we could go all out on the pikey look, because “of course everyone will dress up.” So we just got absolutely smashed, and luckily the chavs started emerging later on.
Big T was wearing a rather large price tag on his cap, and waltzing around with a bottle of cognac.

I fell on the driveway. Blind one.

Me and the aeroplane guy (who now has a name: Mr 747. On mutual assessment) went through MacDonalds on the way home and ordered like 8 cheeseburgers.

Then once home, we played a bit of Monster Hits, then I got carried to bed, while he wore one of my jerseys. Bless his little tracky pants.
I haven't done a consecutive triple napover in a long time.

Went to see the Lion King at the Vulgar Tuscan Palace with my folks. It was absolutely exceptional. The costumes are possibly some of the best I've ever seen.