After the last house party featured on these modest pages, I highlighted the advantage of theme to the genre. Gets people a little more interested, excited, and wholly more involved in the lead up to the event. Makes for some great conversation and memorable photos. Plus, y’know there’s wigs. Wigs are the house party equivalent to riding a space hopper to the corner shop. It’s not easier, or faster, or even more economical. There’s no specific point to it. For some unknown reason, it’s just more fun. As well as wigs, the same can be said about novelty sunglasses, feather boas, and anything that sparkles more than the Osmond family photograph.

Studio 54 was a swanky celebrity nightclub in 70’s-80’s New York. The club was notorious for its hedonistic nights and anti-establishment youth culture, and when Bianca Jagger entered atop a white horse during a private party, the resulting PR cemented the venue as the most popular celebrity discotheque of its time.

Basically a ‘Studio 54’ theme just means ‘Discotheque’ (hence the wigs). So dust off your flares (or just buy some if you’re not in your 40’s), sunglasses, open necked shirts, stick-on sideburns, and get growing that tache grandma!

The theme was dearest Claire’s idea and choice for her own Birthday celebration. The usual London Me Up crowd were of course present in attendance, Claire herself, Gazz, and Ramone. This time Ramone also dragged his Mrs, Renée, and Akin dropped in for the craic too.

After Gazz and I had kicked things off back at ours with a few bevies strapping ourselves securely into the mood, we hotfooted it down to the tube. The relatively short journey wouldn’t be a problem, a reasonably warm October night should see to that. No such luck. I’m pretty certain that precisely 4 minutes of rainfall fell that night. It just so happened that those 4 minutes of rainfall fell during our 5 minute walk and were as cold as a witch’s nipple, and twice as hard. For the two guys opening the door to us, the sight of a drowned gutter rat in a gold shirt and ludicrous chain, and Gazz, was too much to bear. I didn’t see them for the rest of the night.

As Akin was driving, he parked up and joined us for the entrance. After which the 30 minute plan of walking around to say our hellos and catch ups was interrupted by an unexpected clear spot at the drinks/snacks table. The opportunity was too good to miss. It seemed the actual talking to people part would have to wait its turn. Besides, how can I talk properly with my throat at an entirely insufficient level of liquidity? It’s impossible. Not a problem, Gin will see to that quickfast! In fact the first thing to tempt me out of the safety of the drinks table, was the sight of Clare! Coming to us live from the Ireland, especially for Claire’s birthday.

Clare also introduced me to my first experience of the wide array of wigs on offer. The only wig at the last party was Olja’s lovely blonde locks. But in that case, you could be forgiven for thinking they were real (thankfully as I did). Whereas the only obvious use for these things was for a place to keep your comb without pockets.

Speaking of which, Olga was on fine form with her proper camera (opposed to my piece of corrugated cardboard with a hole in). Setting up a tripod/sofa/lighting situation she was doing character shots for everyone (which by the way, are brilliant, and if you attended the party or just like looking at nice pictures are here).

Sadly as the majority of revellers called it a night, the party started to die down around 1. That was until another familiar face showed up. In the interest of anonymity, let’s call her Des’ree. I’ve met Des’ree before I know I have, and proceeded to tell her exactly that. ‘You’re mistaken’ I was informed. There was the last party of course, but another time before that I was sure. ‘You said that the last time’ Des’ree rebuked. Having spoken very briefly the last time, I felt myself lucky to get a second shot here, but it was slipping away. I’m pretty sure the only reason I was still in the soul singer’s company was that I was blocking her view of where exactly her friend had got to.

The next few hours are a bit of a blur. By the time she left, it was about 4, and the only actual thing I remember saying was:

“You’re an accountant Des’ree? Wow, that’s exciting!”

“No it’s not.”

“No really Des’ree… You really excite me, because you’re an accountant, and I love… spreadsheets.”

After this stunning line, I’m surprised I didn’t wake up the next morning with a heel shaped hole in my face. Even more astonishing, after 3 hours of what must have been similarly awful conversational ploys, I was left with a hug! Afterwards I turned around and reasoned why they may have decided to leave after all. Gazz – who had been talking to Des’ree’s friend, had simply fallen asleep mid-conversation. Poor Gazz, he couldn’t even blame it on sex. Cue an hour of fun hitting, slapping, jumping on, and stuffing pennies up Gazz (nose). He’s still not worked out why everything smells of copper.