Thankyou Mr Izzard

So, I attended my first dinner party for a while. I had been warned about what NOT to say, or mention etc. It's tricky as I like to throw a conversation with a weird statement that has no bearing on the current topic at all, but, love rested on my behaviour (and she was sitting next to me).

Thus, I was good, and well behaved, and didn't do anything untoward at all, really. I ate food in the proper fashion, listened to jazz and said appropriate statements like 'groovy' and was generally extremely well behaved.

Mariposa was pleased as it was like I was fitting into society, in a general, 'fitting-in' kind of way. I entered into the whole spirit of things and I offered tips on cooking, did not swear in any language, and simplistically, was a very good Goth.

Everything was going swimmingly well as we sat around the table, as if we were in a Jane Austen novel, eating the gorgeous food that had been prepared, drinking the lovingly chosen wine and talking seriously about the state of affairs in Africa.

Until...

I got asked a question about a particular food. "So, how would you like your .... ?"

"Covered in bees"

At which point, wine flew out of everyones nostrils and the whole occassion took on a different perspective.

It probably doesn't make an awful lot of sense unless you have seen Eddie Izzard talking about bees, but if you haven't, go Here and then you might get it.

Oh well, scheiss passiert !!

Dinner Parties

Two days, two different dinner parties. I know, I shouldn't be complaining - I got invited to the bastard things, but....

Goth doesn't mind pitching up at these events, bottle of wine in hand etc, eating strange food and talking to people he's never met before, for no reason but, my fingers hurt now.

Why? Because if there is a guitar there - guess what happens? No, I don't try and eat the guitar instead of the food - I end up playing it. I don't mind that but, some of the requests are, simplistically, fucking weird. That will be the point where I say "No, but I do know this funky little Metallica number".

As the smoke settles, I can look back and marvel at what has transpired.

Dinner Party number 1 (in Portuguese). "Excuse me but the gas is still on and it's starting to get dangerous in here" - "Oh you're so funny" - "No, the fucking gas is on and it's not cooking anything". Cue, frantic window opening and lots of nervous cigarette lighting.

Conversations about Brasil abound. Music is played on the stereo - except that, the CD keeps jumping. Easy enough to fix - twat the stereo. I'm not sure quite how 'twatting' a stereo is going to make a CD jump less, but it is rather amusing to watch.

"Wine anyone?" - ok, but I'm not drinking that shite - it's off. Thus Goth has to go out and buy some more, well, L paid for it but Goth chose it. Sort of.

Dinner Party number 2 (in Spanish) - sort of. Food on plates - it kind of helps, I think, and mucho vino. And then..... the singing begins, again.

"Do you know Stairway to Heaven?" - oh, for fucks sake.

"No, do that funky 'More Than 'something' ' song".

"No, no.... I want to hear..."

"Do you know..."

But then...... something happened that wasn't supposed to - real talent took centre stage. Whilst Goth was pissing about with a blues riff, the singing started. Except it wasn't just singing - it was 'improv' at it's best.

FUCK ME - this fucking rocks!!!

"Coffee anyone?" announces the stewardess, and it's back to reality, with a very unceremonious bump.

Stiff Little Fingers ? - they bloody are now