PARTY PARTY

With Christmas approaching, Guy Fawkes night and the American festival of Halloween, there is a lot of whooping to be done.

This year even more so with Dark Lady wedding her Dark Lord (AKA Dark Dork, Duff Fader, Tub of the Pub and also "//:;(())!!!" all being used to describe me from time to time). There are of course other events to be held; rather against our will I refer, of course, to Hen and Stag parties.

More on them shortly. First to this morning and a 60th birthday breakfast bash for Barry. DL used to be married to Baz and they still get along famously and, as the father of her two children, he is very hands-on.

So as he was 60 there was a re-run of his 50th in a cafe in London's Soho.

This involved gifts, cake, a glass of champagne and a fry-up as it was breakfast time. All very civilised as people had to go to work and children had to go to school.

The cafe owner was a jolly man although bent low with arthritis. If we reconvene for Baz's 70th the poor chap’s nose will be touching his shoes!

The Dark Lady who, like me, is the shy retiring type has just discovered that on Friday some friends and colleagues are throwing her a Hen party.

She is very touched but a little concerned that it may be a tabloid TV tale of drunken excess.

Not for her a fat suit, bridal veil, fairy wings and L-plates. Perhaps a well oiled strippergram briefly dressed as a traffic warden, plus a selection of sparkly sex toys, each gift accompanied by drunken shrieking. All of this before the evening ends with her being arrested for kissing a policeman after being sick in a flowerpot outside an Essex nightclub.

So far luckily no one has mentioned the dreaded "S" word. Not sure I am the right guy to go off to Amsterdam or Prague for the weekend with lairy mates in rugby shirts with "Al's European Tour" printed on the back. The lagers flowing at the airport at 6am and culminating 22 hours later in a urine-soaked back-alley with vague recollections of bars. Hooting. Fighting and unprotected sex with a large hooker called Hildegarde with a suspiciously deep voice and a Swastika tattooed on her left buttock!

However there is another DJ Nerd night coming up on 11th November so to head off any thoughts of it deviating from its intended purpose, which is to ensure that anyone within earshot will lose the will to live more or less instantly. To that end, everyone is under the strictest instructions that any conversation other than jingles and who was on Drivetime at 108 "The Grate" in 1987 is strictly Verboten!

Verboten!!!! Oops! Hildegarde is that you?