Soiree Internationale
Saturday, 22. November 2008, 11:38:52
As one ages, one's tolerance for the finer things in life undergoes a sad decline. It's a sobering Fact of Life that us thirty-somethings do not have the same energy or stamina of our twenty-something peers. Nights out on the town are more of a challenge than in days of yore; we tire faster and take longer to recover afterwards, a slightly depressing reminder of our fading mortality (for the deeper thinkers out there, the rest of you just carry on staring at the shiny things).
So it's always nice when a night slips through that bucks the trend.
My good friend Deborah enjoyed her 26th birthday last week but failed to celebrate it in any significant way. So last night, her friend, colleague and fully-paid-up Frenchman, Alain, held a soiree back at his rather impressive batchelor pad and shoe-horned her belated celebration into the proceedings, cake and all. On the guest list were a random and eclectic collection of Aberdeen University's continental contingent; two beautiful French ladies: two lively German girls: one larger-than-life German male: one Scots student of Herring Penises and her Brussels-born fiance: one unlawfully* handsome and charming male of indeterminate origin and staggering linguistic capability...and yours truly.
I arrived late to the party - not fashionably (Fashion and I ceased communicating years ago), just rather later than intended due to my getting my own close friend and colleague, Suzanne, curiously more inebriated than I'd ever seen her. Suzanne had bravely accepted my offer to keep me company in town while I killed an hour or two waiting for the party to start, but her empty stomach was not best prepared for a full bottle of red wine flowing smoothly over her deliriously happy taste buds.
Once again my reputation as a Corrupter of Innocents (
) had emerged from the abyssal darknesses of my character, but I was happy to learn later that she arrived home safe and well...and had promptly fallen in her bath (as relayed to me via the medium of text at ohmygodgobacktosleep O'clock this morning).
Moving on, with much-needed rapidity...
I arrived in deepest, darkest Tillydrone - one of Aberdeen's wilder, less-civilised suburbs - by the good graces of one of our fair city's genial taxi-herders, the bus services looking less than convenient at only 8pm. Alain's place was a mere hop, skip and a jump from where I was dropped off, sparing me the potential nightmare of hunting, alone, in such a notorious neighbourhood. People have died for less.
No, seriously.
As to the party itself, what can be said that won't have been said about every other party in existence? We drank, we ate, we laughed, we mocked, we danced, the girls straightened Alain's unruly-but-rogueish blonde hair...
Allo. Je m'appelle Alain, and I love ze UK ladeez...call moi?
until, as individuals, we felt we could do no more and headed home to our nice, warm beds. I heard the call around 2am, and walked home - for my own home was a mere fifteen minutes away - in the driving, billowing snow:
Peaceful, tranquil, not as cold as it looked...
I'm sorry, didn't I mention that? Yes, November 21st saw the first strains of winter beginning to arrive in North East Scotland as Aberdeen was blanketed by a carpet of crisp snowfall which affected us not a jot, contrasted amusingly with our foppish English counterparts for whom a few flakes scattered here and there heralds the grinding, panicked halt of civilisation itself.
A Good Night, then. One that amused me, entertained me, and re-affirmed my ability to drink quantities of alcohol serious enough to damage younger friends, while remaining personable and intelligent company. Here's to growing old gracefully.
* * * * * * * * *
*The Laws of Ego generally require that members of my gender better-looking and more socially-adept than I are killed on sight. Somehow this one was permitted to live leading me to suspect I may be mellowing in my old age...Bah!
So it's always nice when a night slips through that bucks the trend.
My good friend Deborah enjoyed her 26th birthday last week but failed to celebrate it in any significant way. So last night, her friend, colleague and fully-paid-up Frenchman, Alain, held a soiree back at his rather impressive batchelor pad and shoe-horned her belated celebration into the proceedings, cake and all. On the guest list were a random and eclectic collection of Aberdeen University's continental contingent; two beautiful French ladies: two lively German girls: one larger-than-life German male: one Scots student of Herring Penises and her Brussels-born fiance: one unlawfully* handsome and charming male of indeterminate origin and staggering linguistic capability...and yours truly.
I arrived late to the party - not fashionably (Fashion and I ceased communicating years ago), just rather later than intended due to my getting my own close friend and colleague, Suzanne, curiously more inebriated than I'd ever seen her. Suzanne had bravely accepted my offer to keep me company in town while I killed an hour or two waiting for the party to start, but her empty stomach was not best prepared for a full bottle of red wine flowing smoothly over her deliriously happy taste buds.
Once again my reputation as a Corrupter of Innocents (
) had emerged from the abyssal darknesses of my character, but I was happy to learn later that she arrived home safe and well...and had promptly fallen in her bath (as relayed to me via the medium of text at ohmygodgobacktosleep O'clock this morning).Moving on, with much-needed rapidity...
I arrived in deepest, darkest Tillydrone - one of Aberdeen's wilder, less-civilised suburbs - by the good graces of one of our fair city's genial taxi-herders, the bus services looking less than convenient at only 8pm. Alain's place was a mere hop, skip and a jump from where I was dropped off, sparing me the potential nightmare of hunting, alone, in such a notorious neighbourhood. People have died for less.
No, seriously.
As to the party itself, what can be said that won't have been said about every other party in existence? We drank, we ate, we laughed, we mocked, we danced, the girls straightened Alain's unruly-but-rogueish blonde hair...
Allo. Je m'appelle Alain, and I love ze UK ladeez...call moi?
until, as individuals, we felt we could do no more and headed home to our nice, warm beds. I heard the call around 2am, and walked home - for my own home was a mere fifteen minutes away - in the driving, billowing snow:
Peaceful, tranquil, not as cold as it looked...
I'm sorry, didn't I mention that? Yes, November 21st saw the first strains of winter beginning to arrive in North East Scotland as Aberdeen was blanketed by a carpet of crisp snowfall which affected us not a jot, contrasted amusingly with our foppish English counterparts for whom a few flakes scattered here and there heralds the grinding, panicked halt of civilisation itself.
A Good Night, then. One that amused me, entertained me, and re-affirmed my ability to drink quantities of alcohol serious enough to damage younger friends, while remaining personable and intelligent company. Here's to growing old gracefully.
* * * * * * * * *
*The Laws of Ego generally require that members of my gender better-looking and more socially-adept than I are killed on sight. Somehow this one was permitted to live leading me to suspect I may be mellowing in my old age...Bah!
), although we did promise to meet up later on that evening when both groups of people would be out properly.
And that was where we spent the rest of the evening, basically, chatting, drinking and chatting some more. By 11pm we were all in various states of drunkenness (I could still walk in a straight line) and tiredness so Rory and I returned to his flat, me grateful for the chance to finally dump my travel bag somewhere I didn’t have to worry about it. I was asleep within seconds of my head hitting the pillow. 
I was all for storming up to the bar for a good moan but when we looked closely at what the other couple had ordered we noticed that, unluckily for us, they had ordered exactly the same two meals – they were eating OUR breakfasts! Ranald and I had ordered up at the bar, so the floor staff, not knowing who we were, simply brought food to that table and served the two people sitting there. I felt massively silly after that, it being entirely my fault that Ran and I had to wait so long, so when it arrived I ate my food quickly, quietly and without looking anybody in the eye. 
So I let Ranald escape back to Rory’s and amused myself with phone-calls to my girlfriend, an Aliens graphic novel anthology and a gaming magazine. I did try to jump onto an earlier bus but was told this was not allowed. I wasn’t sure why it wouldn’t be but didn’t feel like forcing the issue, not after nearly making a prat of myself over lunch.
)
...all of which has left me no time at all to come here and tell you all about any of it! Bah!
WIDGETIZE