WORK IS THE CURSE OF THE DRINKING CLASSES

Paula in town a couple of weeks ago. Her presence tornado-like, sweeping up everyone around her and carrying them along in a whirlwind of spontaneous adventure and ...errrr ...champagne. You’ve got to love a girl you’ve never met before who hands you a book (a very beautiful book I might add) of photos of herself (mostly minus clothing), practically before she’s even said hello. We were introduced by a mutual friend, and clearly he has permission to introduce anyone to me from now on.

There haven’t been enough people in my life like this lately, but unfortunately they have all chosen to visit in the same month. I think I can say with some precision that I am unlikely to be sober again now until June 29th.

And so to the Marquis and Ben. The really terrible thing about house guests like these is that at some point they GO HOME. Who is leaving liquor chocolates on my pillow, making Vietnamese coffee and playing Chopin in the front room now huh? Not the TH....
Oh God I love these two. Serene and charming by day, witty and spirited at night.

All too soon their final evening, which began in a very civilized manner with drinks and chat on JB & Uptown Nigel’s roof deck. One of those totally perfect times with four of my favourite people in the World, who were all totally in love with each other from practically the moment they met. (Flashbacks to Commuter Jazz Friday gatherings.) It was hard to believe (certainly from my point of view) that the evening could possibly get any better than THIS.



But 6 hours and many drinks later, off we cabbed into the village night. Despite persistent denials from the Marquis, I remain convinced that he is keyholder of this entire city, as I have yet to enter a bar with him where everything is not ‘taken care of’ by some mysterious benefactor behind the scenes. And so it was at the first bar, where incidentally, even Brooke Shields hobbled over on her crutches to catch a glimpse of the glamorous Nola boys (although for some reason they thought it was the other way round). There was also a famous rock band at our table, apparently. But don’t ask who because by this point I could barely remember my own name.

2am or thereabouts and onto another bar. On the way I befriended one of our party – a lovely guy from New Orleans who looked like a sound engineer and was called Newark or Kennedy or perhaps some other airport? Oh wait, maybe it was a State? He’d just been auditioning for a ‘Who wants to be a Millionaire’ movie special and was clearly about 50 drinks behind us. He was one of several people that evening I think I invited to come and stay at some point...but probably the only time I meant it..

Everybody at the next bar had had at least as much to drink as us and it appeared that they had been waiting for our arrival all night. JB had a harem following him around from the moment he walked through the door and there was a pool game, of sorts, but very little of it was taking place on the pool table. Despite being (the only) female in a gay bar, even I got hit on. My hitter was cute as all hell and I was more than happy to spend an hour staring into his pretty eyes whilst he poured out his heart about having a girlfriend at home who had no idea that he was gay. I don’t think I invited him to stay too, but it’s not impossible....

Home finally at 0 dark thirty. The Marquis and I debrief at the kitchen table, and I brag about never getting to the point when I’ve drunk too much to talk. I am conscious that I am slurring the word ‘talk’. And the word ‘alcohol’ is impossible.

I hate it when they leave, but it’s fortuitous at least for Demidenko, who might not otherwise have had a piano for his performances in July....
Owen arrives next week for doubtless more of the same. And so it goes on....

But for now Shark is Working.
Please Do Not Disturb.