||[Nov. 13th, 2006|04:39 pm]
|||||Shiny, happy people (I'm not actually...)||]|
I traveled all the way from Ben Crouch's Tavern, with a selection of work colleagues, to Dom and Rosie's engagement party.
Normally, this would be a logistical nightmare for anyone, but not so for this dedicated team…
However, no one had thought to retain the email displaying the name of the place or, in fact, where it was. So, armed with little more than dazzlingly pretty eyes and a rough idea that it was somewhere near Charlotte Street, we sent forth into the chilly London night, like innocents abroad...
Once again, a stunning lack of organisation shone through, as we drunkenly prepared to buy 'quality' engagement gifts en route. There was one shop still open. And considering that, from first appearance, it seemed to sell nothing more than 'Mind the Gap' knickers, fake plastic tits and leather beanies, we weren't too hopeful.
But luckily some people have more resolve than me and some nice gifts were indeed purchased: earrings for the lady and a rather smart-looking Bowler for sir. Dom cut quite a dash actually. And his gift was clearly the better of the two, considering we later found out that Rosie doesn't actually have her ears pierced. (How were we supposed to know? She's a girl and stuff. Isn't it mandatory?)
After a protracted period of fannying about asking Fitzrovia's resident hairy Goths and old drunks where the Club was (Ollie evidently thinks this is what Rosie's friends look like) we managed to find The Roxy.
Rosemary glided across the room like a particularly pleasant and ingratiating swan, and greeted us with smiles. She even managed to look pleased to see us, which considering that we basically sat around the bar, quaffing ale and laughing like Joeys, was quite nice, when you think about it.
'We've bought you gifts...' I guffawed, my eyes rolling like Richard Blackwood's would, if he'd ever been faced with a sum. Rosie frowned: 'It's fake plastic tits, isn't it?'
Hm. Maybe for the wedding…
The formalities and gifts dispensed with, I proceeded to dance. Catching sight of myself in a mirrored pillar, half-way through a particularly aggressive 'move', I looked like a slightly battered Ollie Reed dressed up like one of Tony Blair's children. It's a sad moment in your life when this happens to you. And it will, believe me. I gave up dancing that same second.
There were some very sweet moments, Rosie and Dom's smoochy slow dance, for example. All the ladies were misty-eyed at that moment. But, to be honest, a lot of them were like that before I turned up...so…
And we managed to send Rosie off well (she wasn't actually going anywhere, but we didn't know that), when those rum coves at the bar turned the music off, we performed a rousing, knees-up version of 'You're so vain'. It put you in mind of the war! (That was shit too, I'm given to understand.)
Anyway, all said, it was a very lovely day.
And three cheers for the glamorous couple.
Huzzah! Whoop! Et cetera.