Stories
This effectively should have been the celebration of the year. A triple celebration. It was my 24th Birthday Party, it was Gazz’ 25th Birthday Party. It was a House(That we’d just moved in together)warming Party. Surely one of these three influences would be enough to get people out from their recession-fuelled sofa marathons?
After inviting pretty much ALL of the people I know (all my facebook friends), and after Gazz invited all the people he knows… we had fired somewhere in the region near 100 invites. A brief scan of the Facebook event would imply we might expect a crowd of between 20-30 at least, but of course everyone knows Facebook RSVPs mean as much as a Bank of Scotland note in a corner shop.
In reality, we were never sure what or who would turn up.
Around 1pm the day of the party, Gazz was pleading with me to throw in the towel. We’d already received more updated No’s than you can shake a curly straw at. The number expected had dwindled down… to 2. Claire, and Gazz’s friend Nick.
Gazz’s phone starts buzzing. “If this is Nick saying he’s out, then I’m calling it off and going out with him.” He says before answering the phone. His excitement level suddenly increases from attending a school disco with his mum, to Timmy Mallett at Disneyland.
“Hoss is in!” He nearly spits in my face once off the phone.
To be fair to him, this was incredible news. Hoss (Ross) ‘The Story’ Gilbert is named such due to his debilitating skill of creating memorable stories… everywhere he goes. Last time I was out with him he downed a £50 bottle of champers in 10 minutes, and became convinced there was a secret club behind one of the walls.
The news then… would mean that no matter who else turns up, Hoss would get 20 times drunker than his nearest competitor, do something dumb, and give everyone a nice little story to take home with them. Like a party bag. Only without those lovely polystyrene toy planes. Safe in this knowledge, off we skipped merrily to Tesco’s to buy the £200 or so of alcohol to fuel The Story Machine.
Nick and Hoss were the first to arrive as it goes. And the main topic of conversation became Hoss and his various stupid antics. Shortly after, Tomoko joins in and we get stated with the rounds of ‘21’s’ The second most lethal drinking game behind only the ‘Withnail and I (We drink when they drink) Game’
We’ve only got a few rounds in to the game by the time Akin and his mate Anthony ring the bell. After being introduced to the rules of the game, as well as the numbers already changed (6 = Gazz’ Mum, 7 = Likes and 4 = Egg), I get rocking with a round of cheeky vimtos and we get started again.
With drink flowing, and festivities moving on nicely, the night is still young by the time Claire brings home the cavalry. Herself, Joe, Joe’s Mrs ‘Diya’, Rachel, Rachel’s Housemate Ngarita, and her man Matteo thankfully fill the house… We wouldn’t want anymore than this claim Gazz and myself.
Now… sometimes when Gazz meets new people he gets a bit nervous. And when he gets nervous, he chooses someone to take the piss out of. The art is sadly all in the choice. I don’t know if his judgement was clouded from the booze, or if he simply needs more practice, but his first choice was Rachel. As anyone who knows her will tell you. Bad choice.
Rachel bless her, falls up the stairs on the way into the house. Upon seeing this, Gazz sees a target and quips “Walk much?” To which she replies “Why don’t you drown yourself” with all the joyful dark-hearted coldness you would expect from an arctic fox. After his soul has thawed, Gazz moves on to someone else. He sees Matteo is wearing a green shirt, so he calls him green-shirt. It’s not gonna get him suspended from BBC Radio 2, but it’s safe.
Green shirt turns out to be a laugh… He starts taking the piss out of me, then when I tell him this is my house, he goes all worried, thinking he’s offended the host. After assurance it’s impossible for offend me, he calms down. Until I tell him Gazz is the other guy he’s been offending.
After a short while the party moves down in to the kitchen, then outside. Most probably because it looked like there were more people that way. Then Green shirt picks up a green bag of crisps, tempting cries of “Green Shirt’s eating Green Crisps! Go on Green Shirt!” I still don’t think Akin’s reached the shore after falling off the boat on that one.
About this time my memory goes a bit fuzzy, and blurry. I’m told that’s because I knocked myself out running down the stairs. It would explain the lump the size of Jupiter on my forehead the next morning.
The rest of the night then, are mostly things that I have been told happened, rather than having memory of them myself. Rachel told me she wanted to go to bed… then passed out. So I carried her up the stairs and put her on my bed. Green Shirt and Green Shirt’s Mrs (who by now was instructing people to call her ‘Green Shirt’s Mrs.) left without telling anyone they were going. Because Gazz had offended them both we fairly assumed. Akin and Anthony (who amazingly was off the booze!) drove home and Claire, Joe, and Diya got a taxi.
This left the remaining 5 to enjoy a comfortable night’s sleep. Gazz wrapping himself in his undersheet having ripped it from his bed. This was after his duvet and pillows were stolen by Nick and Hoss who had taken the sofas. Rachel was blissfully happy, still out of it in my bed, meanwhile I was left to sneak in to my own room lest I wake her up and make her think she was about to be raped. Then spend the night in constant fear of a shower of a White Wine and Gin based vomit cocktail.
It’s really only the next morning where the story gets worthwhile (which if you’ve stayed until this point, then credit to you. This is your reward.
Rachel wakes up to 6 missed calls and voicemails. Turns out when we thought Green Shirt and his Mrs. had simply been offended and disappeared, we were very very wrong. They must have decided to go for a walk at some point, to go for food or something. As the voicemails were telling Rachel they were both in the local hospital! Green-Shirt had only gone and got his bloody jaw broken! This is the extent of the information I (at the time of going to press) have on the matter.
So I sheepishly (Afterall it was MY party at MY house, in MY area of town that they came to in friendly spirits, and paid the price) phoned Rachel a taxi to the hospital, and haven’t heard from either of them since.
We’re expecting the next party to be a big hit.
Leytonstone Housewarming - Brought to you by James Wormald -