Speakeasy

Last night is yet another of those nights I would rather forget. And, fortunately enough, the amount of alcohol I drank means that I've already forgotten the majority of it. Here are the bits I'm still trying to erase from my memory:

Whilst Tuesday night would normally be cause to boogie on down to everyone's favourite nightclub, Life, it's currently closed having its name changed to Club 22 (not sure why this takes a whole week but then again my nightclub management experience is admittedly limited). To fill the hole that this would have left in the lives of so many, one of my romance.ucam.org acquaintances threw a party, and Jimmy convinced me to go along.

So I get to the street, it's a little alleyway lined with terraced houses. A little way along there is what looks like a Pagan ritual going on - a bunch of about 15 people sitting around a stuffed owl on a pedestal and several candles. As I walk up, the host comes forward and finds me a seat, next to a somewhat pie-faced straight guy. No sooner have I sat down than an amazingly drunk posh girl comes and parks herself on the straight guy's lap. He says she's sitting on his keys, would she mind shifting slightly?? She does so and he smiles very broadly. Dominic suspects that it might be something quite other than a bunch of keys she's on.

The atmosphere of the party can best be described as campy. Loud fifty-year-old men braying with laughter, posturing guys in their mid-20s each trying to be more droll than the others, one very hot pianist, Jimmy's friend Ed, Jimmy himself, and me. And lots and lots of cider. Every time my glass was less than half full it would magically be refilled, and so after about an hour I was very... merry. At this point several people left, including Jimmy and Ed, and were replaced by a gang of gun-toting (ok I made that up but they looked a bit scary) lesbians, who promptly broke into the churchyard on the other side of the street and sat down round a grave to swap stories of their past sexual exploits, which included such choice tales as sex in libraries, on public transport, etc. My own story of getting down and dirty on a canal bank seemed very tame in comparison, let me tell you.

After a while I went indoors and listened to the pianist playing. Don't remember much about the music, but his arse looked fabulous pressed against the piano stool. By this point I'd been moved on to vodka shots and was feeling very morally loose. Would definitely have allowed piano-man to take advantage of me. Fortunately he left shortly after his little rendition otherwise I'd probably be out trying to get the morning-after pill right now. Not long after this I got the distinct impression that everyone was trying to get me drunk in order to deflower me without me noticing (probably not true considering that half the remaining guests were lezzes) and so I yelled at everyone that I was leaving straight away and ran off. The host asked me if I was worried I might do something I would regret, and I countered that I was simply worried someone ELSE might do something I'd regret. Sharp as a tack even when numb with drink, that's me!!

So this morning of course I woke up with a vile hangover and had to face up to what I did. Email to the party host to apologise for making such a spectacle of myself, and a new crush on a nameless musician I once met at a party. As any of the more pretentious party guests might say: C'est la vie, non?

Update: Have remembered being asked if I smoked at one point. In an admittedly somewhat pathetic attempt at looking suave I said I was trying to quit. Someone gave me a ciggie and then offered me a light so I held it in the flame for a while and nothing happened. Piano man raised a gorgeous eyebrow and told me I had to suck the end. "Oh yeah, hahaha, only joking!!" I said, though I did get the impression he wasn't totally convinced....