Pissed & Partying

The now imaginable has happened...the one lens is gone. Last night was Denton's summer party - 'Black Tie Optional' read the invitation. So I figured that it'd be a wonderful sedate sit down English affair. I always, of course, get these wrong - remember the Manches Cup prediction? Anyway, so its like this smash bang affair with everything on the house and basically a chance for everyone to get drunk at the firm's expense. 2 glasses of wine at dinner later - I told myself that I had had enough alchohol. Unfortunately, the party was then getting very boring, because everyone else was basically getting to a stage of being 'pissed'.

Annotation: In England, the word 'pissed' is used in a different connotation from the usage in the States, or for that matter at home. 'Pissed off' means angry. 'Pissed' means drunk.

I therefore decided that I would entertain myself. So I got on to the Motorised Bronco/Rodeo thing, scraped my hand really badly staying on about 30 seconds, besides pulling my leg muscles. But fun nonetheless, and I enjoyed it. I also played the electronic car racing thing - with one car on a track and you're controlling its speed. I was very good at that - won most my races. But there's only so much of car racing that can go on and it's only once that you can ride the bronco. So I sort of sat down at a table screaming into a colleagues ear and he screaming into mine making PC. Its insane to think about the amount of effort that's expended into making PC at a noisy, poor music-laden party. There was, of course, a live band called 'Lovetrain' with a seemingly - no - almost ostensibly - sexually deviant guy, singing awfully picked songs relatively well.

At this point, everyone who wanted to get pissed was, and those who didn't had left, but I was still there, of course. Then something happened which would have extremely embarrasing in under any other circumstances, but these. This woman, whose name I couldn't for the life of me recall and still can't - (Elizabeth, I think) screams "SUPERMAAAANNN" and gives me a bear hug.

Note: For those of you who cannot follow the significance of her screaming or any other part of our exchange - please don't ask. I will live happily ever after and you will live.

She then drags me to the dance floor (how could I turn down a pretty and seemingly 'on edge' English woman - note that attractive English women are in short supply, see my previous blog) and I spend the next hour or so dancing to songs I've heard only once before, at the Manches Cup party. The English DJ's are sad, they really are. The music they play is appreciated only by the English - some cult thing, I think.

Anyway, to lengthen a short story, I walk out of the place - try and figure out how I am going to get from the bank of the Thames to Victoria (it is 1:15 a.m.). Cabs are 12 quid a pop and I can't find anybody to share one. As always, I take off my glasses to think - and the lenses are there. I give the loose screw a once over and everything is still ok. I then walk to Monument, which is obviously shut, but find some Underground employees and ask them. He points me to a Bus Stop from where I will get a Night Bus to Victoria. That bus stop was actually good enough to take me to Shoreditch, Richmond and Putney, but not Victoria. So I do what I always do - walk.

I'm looking quite weird, I must admit - I'm in a Bandhgala with the jacket now open. I'm carrying a backpack and an umbrella which I use like a cane - very English! Anyway - I find a bus stop and a bus - manage to to make it to Victoria with only the odd drop off listening to a German couple getting very cosy behind me! I then get on to the Oxford Tube bus and crash.

Usually I would remember seeing Marble Arch, Notting Hill, Hammersmith, a bit of the motorway and then wake up a little after the Park & Ride stop. Last night, I crashed (the nauseous feeling had not left my side naturally) and then wake up at a roundabout. I figure its the Park & Ride place, but see The Pub Oxford to my left. A jolt and I'm up. St. Clements comes and goes and luckily he stops at High Street (he did ask me where I was getting off - presumably for this reason). and waits. I am really really really sleepy. Its 3:15 a.m. on a pretty deserted looking High Street. 15 minutes, a couple of calls, a barely recallable conversation with anna, a change of clothes and a quick set up of the extra bed later - I am asleep. The lens is now very eerily missing! Hmmm...I know where I'll be headed once I'm in Bombay.

Moral of the story: when you go to parties with the Brits - go with someone who has a car and will drop you home - and get sloshed. There is no other way to go about it. The difference between a night club and a gig like this is that no one misbehaves here (at least there's something positive about it). Also do not wear glasses which are on the edge, do not ever dress up as Superman unless you're crazy and avoid attractive young English women!

The All Blacks have just thrashed the Lions, Henman and Safin are gone - Federer has to win now - please? Sharapova also looks the strongest along with Clijsters. The only thing is that Clijsters hasn't had serious match play for a while - and it'll be difficult for her to last the fortnight.

In other news - I have 2 weeks of work left. It's a shame, cos I've just got the hang of things and having immensely busy days with really non-stop work - and it's getting on for time to pack up. Oh well - next year maybe!!

I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hands.

Not quite my thoughts, but I like the song nonetheless.