Hee. I notice the working week this week started with black holes and ended with revelations, if I were Muse, I would be somewhat amused. I also notice, today is Saturday, which means I have a party tonight! A party I am hostessing.
Well, by ‘party’ I mean, a small and carefully chosen group of people who I can rely on not to bring seven strangers apiece are coming to sample some of the homebrew, which means I should probably feed them too, and which also means I won’t have a flat full of annoying idiots I don’t know riling up the neighbours and consuming not only what’s laid out but everything else they can get their mitts on, and in the morning I inexplicably own fewer CDs and someone’s poured something over the stereo. Touchwood. Makes you wonder why someone who trusts humanity this much even has people over, really, but there you go.
Among people attending: some friends (who I assume will be drinking); my wee bro (who does not). I’m not sure how many of these people have previously met. This could yet be a disaster.
The first part went smoothly. Despite having had to cancel my cashcard, for it is that time of year when the new one is supposed to arrive, only it doesn’t, so cancelling it and having a new one issued voids the about-to-expire one as well, so I am actually forced to stick to a budget for once. No getting round it by using Amazon, either! So I tripped down to LIDL and made my own bodyweight in muffins, so far so good. Then I cleaned up and went back to bed, being knackered by, er, pressing the button on the blender, it would appear.
My first ever apple crumble: also an apparent success, though by this time I had discovered I have seven kilos of self-raising flour, which I use for nothing, no kilos of plain flour, which I use for almost everything, no strong white flour, which I use for bread, and no damn butter for the first time in… years? The neighbours no doubt discovered this at around the same time, since I was storming up and down the flat singing loud songs about it. Back to the shops. I did not dare go near a supermarket, it being after ten in the morning on a weekend. The cornershop has no butter. I improvised with marge, made a garlic-and-coriander loaf (this is not a good time to have to make a list of Things That Have Run Out, but it is what is happening) and… had to go for a lie-down again.
It now being nearly three in the afternoon, the gallon-vat of chilli had to go on. And, risking burning down the entire building, I went back to bed, exhausted by opening fifteen assorted tins of beans with a tin-opener, it would appear. Goddamn, tonight might be quite challenging.
Eventually, it was time to get back up, make a gigantic lasagne, shower and think about what to wear. Now, if it was just mates, I would wear my Enormous Boots of Awesome, (which Rice Krispies calls my slutty boots) but I am not sure I will get away with it in front of my wee bro. Though in my defence, these are actually very modest boots. They conceal everything from toe to mid-thigh – if they were any more modest, they would be waders!
Screw it. If you can’t stomp about in your own home, where can you stomp about? So I put them on. And the new suspenders and the new fishnet stockings, and with clothes over the top of em, hey, you couldn’t tell.
Of course, my wee bro and his girlfriend, who I will call… Sarsparilla, which I think is a sort of thing you can eat (all names here are changed to protect the guilty, but I need some sort of code for remembering who’s who, dammit!) were the first folks to show up, which meant I was remarkably inappropriately dressed for being indoors in my own home, ha ha. Undaunted, Sarsparilla immediately launched into a big, Oh won’t you come spend Christmas with us? spiel, complete with big puppy eyes and lashings of, It’ll be so cool, you can meet my parents, and me and you and my mum can cook Christmas dinner together and then on boxing day we can dress up and play murder mystery!… I mean, what was I meant to say; No? Certainly I think that was the most enthusiastic anyone’s ever seemed about me coming to spend Christmas with them. I’m a total sucker for that. Though I think the boots will stay at home.
Daiquiri and Lirazelf and Connor O’Bain also showed up soonish, however, which meant there were two of us in big stompy boots and at least one in leather trousers so the equilibrium was re-set and mercifully nobody I was related to actually asked if they’d arrived at a surprise orgy.
The conversation immediately turned to, Why are all dildos named Colin? This was, admittedly, mostly my fault, but it all seemed such a logical progression. And to our knowledge all dildos are named Colin. We know of two, at least, (neither of which belong to anyone present, I hasten to add) and we don’t know of any other named ones, cogito ergo sum.
Fortunately, things got better after that, rather than worse. Although I should not have made Daiquiri Master of Rice because he made more rice than I have seen in one place in my entire life. Connor O’Bain (who is a master of bringing gifts) brought me a wee Cthulhu necklace he’d made out of fimo and hung on a chain, so I put that on and stoped about some more. And Beer brought me liqueur chocolates which I forgot to bring out, and Rice Krispies and her mate brought vodka and cream soda and everyone brought garlic bread (which goes to show what happens if you demand openly on the internet, Bring garlic bread!) and everything was demolished in short order. Which is better than the alternative (tip: make them wait till everyone’s present before bringing out the food. And invite someone who is always late. People will eat anything then!)
The rosehip wine went like the clappers too, which I was quite surprised by, but people said it was like a pleasant dry white wine and I had to go siphon the other demijohn eventually, with Beer’s help. When that ran out too, I had dozens of pints of strawberry cider to fall back on, thank god. And everyone seemed to be getting on well and were inventing new jokes together. And thank god I now have two spare rooms because my wee bro and his girlfriend wanted to stay over, and so did Daiquiri.
And yeah, that probably reads like the most boring of ‘grown-up’ evenings ever, but I can’t convey party atmospheres that well; not ones with no clear ‘disaster’ narrative, anyway, or that don’t end in… ‘and then he dropped the full bottle, right, and it went straight through the toilet bowl and we had to try and turn off the water supply. To the whole building’, or, ‘and then I looked up and my parents were back a day early.’ And I am rather glad there was no disaster narrative.