So, fresh (well, as fresh as anyone can be after a night drinking beer and Jack Daniels) from the Anal Gathering (Annual = yearly, Anal = when we can be arsed) of the Bruxelles Bloggers I have a further insight into the faces behind the voices in my head. There were a couple of notable exceptions, one of whom I particularly missed (yes, you my love) but attendance was high as were the alcohol consumption levels.
Mariposa and I, yes she's real, descended upon the allocated venue aboard the Gothic Magic Carpet. "Yes my love, I promise not to take the piss", "Just be nice, please" "I'll try" I lied. I knew what two of the bloggers looked like but the others were just words and attitude on a web page. I was like Stevie Wonder in a fruit shop - I knew what shape I wanted but until I touched, could be sorely mistaken or even, plain slapped.
Aunty Marianne was the first to introduce herself and so obviously I had to enquire about her beloved Arthur. To understand this fully, you need to understand the impact *sniggers* that Zoe's twat had upon poor Arthur( January 24th entry). Arthur was quite bereft having been well and truly shafted. Aunty M however, took this stoically on the chin and even managed to make the twat squirm like a small worm on a big fucking hook. Bwahahahaha. The girl can drink too although I suspect that the hip replacement was just a means of adding an additional alcohol tank. But anyone who can find a 'knit a tit' competition gets a free pass into Goth World.
Next up was The Tippler replete with new hairdo - 20 years younger he looks. "Look as good when you are 600 years old, you will not I think". As per usual, he was in particularly lecherous form. "I'd forgotten what great tits your girlfriend has" - yeah, fuck off and get your own. "Wow, I swear Aunty M's tits have grown" etc. However, he did find a female in the mood for his schoolboy chat-up lines so I dare say there's an entry coming - on his blog I mean. When we departed Tippler was still desperately trying to persuade said female to join him in his bachelor pad, presumably, not to clean the fridge.
Sir Gawain of Strasbourg was preceded by his wife, Lady J, who for some reason was obsessed with who should play the part of Andy Warhol in a movie. I suggested Gary Oldman as I consider him one of the finest actors of his generation. Then she started obsessing about food - women!! Meanwhile, Sir Gawain was busy sulking as no-one was paying attention to him. However, when he realised that it was a bit of a rolling group, i.e. people were drifting from group to group for no reason whatsoever and he joined in, then the smile came back to his cherubic and faintly fluffy little face.
All of this time, Minky was cunningly disguised as a shrub, hiding behind the behemoth known as Mount Jimbob. "I'm sooooo tired" she almost whispered at 8:30. Yeah right and guess who was still there at the end after the bar had stopped serving alcohol? But, she did get a rose out of it from yours truly, so that's one better than VD day isn't it (and yes, mi Mariposa received one too). I must confess I didn't speak to Minky for long as I was firstly absorbed by tales of hoighty toightyness (whatever the fuck that is) from Queen Daphne of the Muff . Her dealings with the royal family, musings upon marriage and a brief discourse on etiquette.
Thus, this morning, Mariposa having quaffed one too many G & T's lay snoring like a hamster, curled up in a ball of fuzziness, whilst I breakfasted alone.
And just to put it in writing, Mount Jimbob, what I said still holds. It's been a few years since I was an amateur rally driver but I can still teach you the finer points of 'handbrake turns', 'power slides' and 'heel and toeing'. All of which are very useful on the streets of Bruxelles, naturally.
Now I'm off to check on the other versions of events.
a luego y buen fin de semana a todos.
*wanders off leaving a vapour cloud of Jack Daniels fumes behind*