We had our "goodbye house" party on Saturday and it brought together the usual array of interesting drunkards and reprobates. One of my particular favourites was my old friend Eric, or Ez, from school. Ez is a virtuoso pianist (currently working on the Rach 2) who is rarely seen wearing shoes, not because he's a socialist, but due to his love of roller-skating. He spent the entire night knocking back strong cups of coffee and sitting around like a sage, occasionally dispensing pearls of wisdom to people talking nearby.
Because he left in the morning before I was awake, Ez charmingly left a message on the stairs. "Gotta run. Thanx for party. Ez." The thing which sets Eric apart from the rest of mankind was the fact that he'd written it by carefully arranging small grey stones to spell out the message.
Other exciting people in attendance who are worth a mention were: a grinning Hugh Dennis lookalike; another schoolfriend I haven't seen in years, who is certainly the first of my friends to get themselves an agent (he's an actor); the man from the NME, who explained to me in great but genuinely fascinating detail how Madonna, Prince and Jackson are the holy trinity of '80s pop; the girl who saw my Viva La Raza (Viva the people) t-shirt and asked which people it was I wanted to live, as if I was some kind of pro-genocide butcher; and finally one young man, who, instead of bringing a bottle, brought us flowers – an apparently touching gesture, later undermined by the discovery that he'd stolen them from a funeral. Respect also to the thirsty fool (currently pursuing a career in the law) who awoke and began demolishing the leftover Sambuca, before moving onto the white wine.
The party took place between the hours of 7pm and 5am, although I have to admit me and Sarah skipped out around 4 to go to a house party we'd heard about up the street. The door was answered by a guy in a big fake afro (where do these things come from? Whenever there's drinking, there's always someone wearing a big fake afro).
He looked at us, waiting for an explanation. We remained silent, me knowing that the excuse "I'm here because my mate's mate is mates with the guy who lives here" would not do. Sarah also remained silent, perhaps knowing that "I'm here because my boyfriend's mate's mate is mates with the guy who lives here" would be even worse. Then he stepped aside and let us in. We didn't stay long; despite the DJ, the well-thought out lighting, the preparation, the people in there didn't look like they were having much fun. So we returned to House Party #1, and all was well.