It was my friend Stefan's 40th birthday party. I can't believe I am older than him. He directed the Oxford Revue I was in 19 years ago and so in my mind he has always seemed senior to me. But in fact he is a young whippersnapper who doesn't turn 40 til Monday.
It was a good bash, and I was surrounded by variously balding and greying men who I have known since I was a teenager. It's hard to deny the passage of time when you see your peers crumbling in front of you. But I managed to deny that I was getting older, convincing myself that only they were. Two of my original housemates from the first place I lived in in London were there and we reminisced about those heady days from half a life time ago. Some of the things I remembered, others I did not. I can't believe how quickly time has passed. At a party, once, for a bet I attempted to eat a whole pack of butter in one go - just taking bites out of the block, not putting it on anything. I managed two large bites before I felt sick and had to stop. It tasted rather off, but then I maybe that is just what butter tastes like if you take it in large quantities. I didn't win the bet. And I won't try again. It doesn't bear thinking about how many calories that would be. I'd be on the treadmill for a long time to work it off if I managed to keep it down. But when you are 21 or 22 eating a whole packet of butter is just one of the things that you think you can do. What young idiots we were! We wondered what it would be like to go back to Hereford Rd in Acton (number 32 I believe if you want to visit the site) and live together again as men in our forties. It would probably be all right. At least we have some money now and could afford to eat more than just jacket potatoes and £1.50 bottles of wine brought from "Rimpy's Fags, Foods, Non-Foods, Wines and Spirits". Is it still there? Does it still boast its stocking of non-foods. Go and say hello to Mr Rimpy if it's there. Mr Chowdry was our landlord back then. I remember him and one of his relatives coming round to deal with a wasp nest in our attic, hopefully armed with some spray and with plastic bags over their hands. I think they may have got stung.
I got nicely drunk with my lovely old friends and it was a fine evening.
In the toilets I noticed someone had written above the urinals "Hull - born and bread" - presumably the man works at a baker in that wonderful town and wants to celebrate his home city and his job by writing about it in a public toilet. Pride can take some strange forms. It made me laugh more when I was drunk than it does now when I am hungover, but illiterate pride is one of my favourite things, especially if, as it usually is, it is expressed near to somewhere where I eject urine or faeces. By which I mean a toilet, rather than Hull.
I bought Stefan a Homer Simpson USB port thing. Which is the kind of present a 40 year old needs. I didn't want to curse him with a skateboard, like I got. I would feel terribly guilty if it killed him as mine will undoubtedly one day do.
