Monday, November 11, 2002

So… because I am too cheap to pay for Blogspot Pro, I am unable to have any images on this site. Which is lame. So I will have to put all the wonderful sights and scenes of the Underground party into words until I’ve figured out a way to get my pictures up on the web somewhere and link to it. Imagine if you can…

Jonathan King and Michael Jackson turning up as Theydon Bois [They Done Boys, Central Line], Jonathan King again and Gary Glitter also turning up as Theydon Bois (for a station in Zone 6, “Where the fuck is that?” land, it was a popular station for the evening.)

A girl in a green jumper with “Mind the Grass” on her front and a piece of astro-turf on her back [Green Park] and her boyfriend covered in tea-stained old street maps [Old Street].

The inevitable boy dressed up as a shepherd and his girl dressed up as *ahem* ladies bits to become, cunningly, Shepherd’s Bush.

A girl in a big floppy condom hat [Cockfosters] and a boy with a noose [Hangar Lane]

The specially written “The Muffin Man” from the Junior Poems on the Underground series (Flatmate A “commissioned” it) and the specially written “On the Auspicious Occasion of the Big-Headed Prawn and its Inscrutable Soup-Ladle” from the Incomprehensible Ethnic Poems on the Underground series (“commissioned” by me)

My sister in a green clerical collar [Parson’s Green], the Appleton sisters [All Saints, DLR], Pimp Flatmate A [Pimplico] and watery-crotch with a maple leaf Flatmate B [Canada Water]

A bloke all in Gap. [Mind the Gap – hohoho. Or should that be “corporate casuals ho”?]

Boy in tuxedo, girl in dress safety-pinned together, a boy in tennis gear [Bond Street, Pinner, Wimbledon]

A bright yellow bowl of Pimms and lemonade with a sneaky addition of vodka, and all the cucumber slices trodden into the carpet.

Two beautiful golden girls drinking evil raki in the kitchen [Golders Green]

Two plastic shopping baskets, two cardboard boxes and a binliner full of empty bottles in the morning, melted CD cases and glitter everywhere – did Gary really have to rub his sparkly crotch all over our flat? And then leave his thong in my bin?

A soaking wet sofa and some torn up posters that will be sadly missing from our walls.

A London tourist in a jester’s hat, clutching an A-Z, looking lost and moronic, having a piss on our doorstep (one guest who will never, ever, EVER be invited to our house again. NEVER.)

A trail of crumbling leaves and fir cones wherever I had been – leaving a line as well as leaves on the line, geddit?

The rusty red crust left in the Seabreeze punch bowl that we hope is just dried cranberry juice and not actually vomit (um, did anyone check?)

And the last image of all: our faces, aged ten years by the experience. It was 6am the next day before it was over, and then 6pm before Flatmate A had stopped being sick. It was 9pm before I got out of bed.

Thanks for coming everyone. ::yawns:: We should do it again sometime.

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