I've Been To The Most Marvellous Party

I've been drunk for the past three days straight, so please bear with me.

I woke yesterday morning with the most horrendous hangover in the history of drinking. When I moved my purse (open on the bed next to me) another bottle of wine rolled out. Oh yes. That's right. I'd been to Anna's party the night before. Slowly scraped myself into some semblance of order and got on the train to AMP's. I don't like the DLR, it scares me with its driverless ways. But hurrah for small mercies, I found an entire Observer on the train and nicked the magazines.

After a taxi to London Fields, we set up at Amy Prior's house, pushing the sofas back and turning it from a living room into a "space" with chairs all set out like a children's piano recital. Amy has the coolest house in the world; she described it as being designed "in three weeks by a person having a nervous breakdown, with builders who didn't speak English" and it's amazing and Alice In Wonderland with fantastic strange rooms that look out over balconies and stairways to nowhere made out of wires and bedrooms like nests that you can't quite stand up in. Fantastic amazing artwork on all the walls (and I'm not just saying that because she's got one of mine. Heh.)

So we set up, and the time for the party came and went. And no one arrived. So I thought "sod this" and walked to Broadway Market to get some sandwiches and pink wine (and oh my lord, they grow the boys cute in London Fields) and by the time I got back the party had started and all my fabulous friends were there. Hurrah!

AMP's sister Lisa DJ'ed and we drank rum or pimms and ate cake and everybody gave me fantastic presents! Hurrah, birthdays are great! I should have them more often. I got pink pears and a Liberty bracelet from my mum, the Tim Burton book, an amazing teapot, 2 mix CDs and a Powerpuff Girls ornament. Wa-hey! Oh, and some balloons, which I tied to my guitar.

Johnney B arrived with the treacle pudding (unfortunately not in a flaming wheelbarrow, due to the rain). We watched Guys and Dolls with the sound off on the wall. What else happened?

Oh yes, we played a gig of sorts. I don't think we were very good - we were unbelivably drunk and kind of too giggly (Anna has the plan that if we fail as a band, we can always become a comedy improv act. Even though I Hate. Comedy. You know, cause I've not got a sense of humour.) I made random party guests (especially poor The Lex) act as my guitar stand - Matt took a photo of him looking like a bulldog licking piss from a nettle at the thought he might be mistaken for indie. So yeah, singing, dancing, ELEPHANTS, ARRRRGGGHHH!!! though I had to shout at my bandmates to make them do sex noises on Insecurities Trader. The new dance routine for Noyfriend went down with great aplomb.

And then Charlie arrived, sopping wet, after the gig had finished with the Liquid Wiggle with our first proper, published, printed review! In The Fly! Apart from dropping the dreaded P-word, it was by all accounts a good review. We got compared to St.Etienne and the Shortwave Set, and apparently we "ride the Routemaster of pop, giggling" (oops, who told him about our adventures out-chavving the chavvy girls at the back of the 43.)

And then we got to the read fun of the evening - MADONNA KARAOKE!!! There's this great new chazz shop that's opened up down the road (Yes, what does Streatham need more of? Clearly charity shops! It sells nothing but books and CDs and I bought an Ackroyd novel, a big illustrated book about the history of sailing and my former housemate's first novel for £2 each!) which sells things like this.

I can't even remember who did what. I think I mangled Beautiful Stranger and then next thing I know everyone is bouncing around and Joe did Death Metal Madonna and everybody danced and it was great. Walked back in the rain through London Fields and passed out on Emsk's sofa. Hurrah!