Tejens 21st was a right larf. Although b-day shenanegans and high consumption of various pick n' mix stimulants and depressives were no excuse for what happened (I'll tell you later), we did enjoy ourselves. Somewhat.If I may be permitted to use an oxymoron, the posh Hackney house the party was in could not have been more ideally suited. An attendant garage, hastily draped with laid back consumerism, served as the Pen's-making-an-arse-of-himself-again-room, or chill area for short. A nice wooden dance floor and a cut-away balcony, complete with voyeurs, served the party peeeps very well for the specific purposes that they had envisaged. Other rooms to talk bullshit in included a kitchen, complete with table and chairs (I told you it was posh) and outside balcony (where Pen and Tejen kept disappearing from(!?)). What with such a famous next door neighbour as Christopher Biggins, who, incidentally did not come and spin a few tunes as we hoped he would, the scenario was complete. The stage was set. Cue lights and ..... action.First DJ to arrive (from the pub) was Oz who was unceremoniously slapped on the decks from 10.30 till 1.30 (just a short set, this one then?) At least it kept him and his big mouth out of trouble for a while, much to everybodies relief.Next on Tejen, who stayed on all night, till about 5, then when the floor was well and truly devoid and most people had gone home he let Jasper on, before Mark Sayer toughened it a tad. Sue politely informed him to 'Fuck off' which he did. Fluff forward in a non sexist way, of course to 12.It was an alcohol fuelled debauchery full of drunken yaks, flailing egos and an overwhelming sense of 'my god, it's just like someone's 21st birthday', etching itself in the air. Down the pub at 12 for a top up, only helped increase the sense of surreal bizarreness.
And I only have one word to say "Chuddas!!"