We’re at a small boozy bash in Brixton over the long Easter weekend. It’s around 1.30am and my friend J, an eccentric ginger Finnish scientist, is drunk. Ah hell, we’re all drunk.
A guy neither of us are familiar with has apparently run out of booze. “Is there any beer left?” he asks loudly.
“No, is all gone,” says J from his comfortable-looking leather beanbag. The beer-seeker goes over to the fridge and has a look anyway. He turns round.
“There is,” he says. “In fact, not only is there beer, there’s Bud, Kronenberg and Carling.”
He takes a can and stares accusingly at the Disseminator of False Information, who is now looking slightly sheepish. Suddenly we're all looking at J tensely, waiting for a response.
Then, for no discernible reason, J puts on a slurry hippy voice and says with dismissive contempt: “Yeah? That’s just your opinion, maaaan.”
From the archives
Great house party moments #24