I have found a new, favourite way to celebrate my birthday over the last couple of years that involves a load of champagne, a mixture of loud-mouthed birds and an 80's soundtrack in my kitchen. It works, I love it, and I'm not going to fuck with it for a few years - I had the time of my life.
The normal thing happened; I was just looking around about an hour in, thinking that it was lovely, everyone was getting on so well, but people really weren't drunk enough and then BOOM! Suddenly, everybody is totally and completely shitfaced, dancing on tables, non-smokers are smoking, new bezzies are bonding over lesbian-experience stories and comparative labia sizes and all hell has well and truly broken loose. Amazing.
Kath told me as she arrived that she was sorry she wasn't going to be able to stay all evening as her boyfriend was leaving for Qatar at 5am this morning for a month and she needed to spend some time with him before he left. I joked that that was a dangerous thing to say as it was tempting fate for her to be the last one out the door. She jointly was the last one out of the door at 2.30am and he left without seeing her this morning. Oops.
Will things ever change? I think I party as hard in 2014 as I did twenty years ago. The only difference is that I drink more expensive alcohol and tend to end up in bed with the same person at the end of the night these days.
Last night was relatively wild for people who are hurtling towards 40. Stuart re-entered his hareem at about 11pm and said that he could hear us from the end of the road. We are mainly avoiding the neighbours today... He thought it would be funny to prank call the house and pretend to be the police. He did, four times, and nobody answered the phone as we didn't hear it.
I love throwing a real mixture of people together and seeing what happens. It hasn't failed yet but I wonder when the day will come that people decide they really are too civilised to cope with the sex, drugs and rock 'n roll of Chez Ward. Maybe we will come to the same realisation at some point too and enter my parents' world of lunchtime drinks parties instead. I used to think that this would all end in my thirties but I'm beginning to think that that could be a little too close for comfort. I had three different cards with the same message on: "Growing old is compulsory, growing up is optional." Somebody is trying to tell me something I think. I was told last night that maybe I needed to rein it in a bit when I went back to Beaumont in September but they soon realised it was unnecessary as I pointed out my boss swigging a glass of champers over the other side of the kitchen. Happy, happy days. Thank you, you fabulous bunch. xxxx
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