The LIPA Christmas party
Dec. 12th, 2004 04:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenFirstly, I am aware my layout looks like crap. I just don't have the energy or time to fix it.
Last night, then. Pedar flew out at about quarter to eight, but his incredible paranoia meant we were there much earlier than we needed to be, which I didn't mind so much. I miss him when he's away, and he's away such a lot now. He's got yet another important post - Deanery College Adviser, I believe - that results in him being in London half the time. He says that if I get into Oxford, he'll meet me for lunch every time he's down there, a thought that makes me smile vaguely whenever I think of it. He only got back from London on Friday, in fact, and yesterday he was off again, only further this time. Which is a bad thing because he's gone, and a bad thing because without him here my mother and I try our level best to kill each other. Weirdly, we haven't come to blows yet, but it might be because I've spent most of the time Pedar's been gone out.
After we got back from the airport, then, I was only home for about an hour, running round the house like an idiot getting ready, before going straight back out again to the train station. Much to my mother's chagrin, I was going to a party with (some of) the resident lunatics at LIPA. I wasn't the only one who found the venue somewhat mystifying - LIPA? - but it's for charity, which does, as they say, explain all sorts of things which couldn't be explained otherwise. I was early, for once - the others were all running late - and it was about ten thirty before we managed to get up Bold Street past the bombed-out church. The place is opposite the Anglican Cathedral, which looks rather spooky at night. Why are churches spooky? The bombed-out one I can just about understand - it's probably the only church in the world that has trees growing on the inside - but surely by definition churches shouldn't be scary?
Anyway. LIPA is the Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts, and it's actually a good venue for a party. It was boiling hot, as it always is, but the bar was surprisingly easy to tackle. We - that is, Hannah, Clare, Colleen and me - got vodka and orange, Malibu and peach Archers in various combinations and settled at a table to mellow up a bit. Clare and Col were on a quest. "Get Iona drunk!"
"I don't drink," I protested, vainly.
"We are the Fellowship of the Bottle and we are on a Quest," Clare intoned solemnly, then spoiled the effect by giggling wildly at something Colleen said. The party was to raise funds for the Birkenhead Leavers' Do; hence hundreds of people I hadn't seen since primary school were there and quite a lot seemed to recognise me. Anyway, this somehow resulted in tales of past exploits being spun round the table. Clare wins the prize, being the only person who has ever actually been drunk enough to acquire a traffic cone. And playing Scrabble. "I don't get it," Hannah said.
I didn't for a minute, then it sunk in and I tried not to fall off my chair. It's because of this, I think. Clare's mind works in interesting ways when she's drunk. When it was the second round, Colleen slammed another bottle of Archers in front of me. "Drink!" she ordered, sounding not unlike Father Jack, and I drank. I hate to admit it, but I love Archers to the point where I wish it wasn't alcoholic so I could actually drink as much of it as I wanted. I drank.
Hence the lunatics eventually got to see their Watcher, if not drunk, at least very tipsy. Hannah said, "Let's do the dancing thing," and for once I wasn't sober enough to argue. The music was quite good, better than it usually is at these things. So we did the dancing thing, with much laughter and ribald comments from the peanut gallery. While I was on the dancefloor, Hannah whispered, "Slash at nine o'clock."
It took a minute for my alcohol-addled brain to work this out, and in the end Hannah turned me in the right direction where we saw a pair of boys dancing cosily. Cute. Actually, the music was good enough for us not to sit out for quite some time, and when we did at last, there was only one chair. Accordingly, Clare and Hannah shared it, with Colleen in Clare's lap and me and Hannah's. It was surprisingly comfortable. While we were there, Phillipa (chance acquaintance) arrived bearing the sad news that the bar, supposed to be open till two, had closed. It was half twelve.
But I think we got over it. I was sobering up, and so were the others; we danced for a whole longer, Hannah and I to one side while Clare and Colleen were passionately outing themselves. I nudged Hannah and grinned. Colleen flipped me the bird.
And at about two-ish, they played McFly and we took it as our cue to leave. Getting a taxi at two in the morning is a lot easier than you would think. At least, we managed it by dint of extreme stubbornness, and fetched up right where we wanted to be about twenty minutes later. Hannah was putting up with us all for the night, minus Emily. She was supposed to come to LIPA from her work party, but due to a deeply implausible sequence of events (she got food poisoning, then drank, then wasn't allowed to leave by her workmates, then stayed the night at her boss's house?) it was just the four of us. We were good. We got in, laid out the bedding, shivered in the cold and promptly fell asleep.
Five hours later Colleen woke me up. I said, "Hannah, when do you have to be in work?"
"Ten," she said.
I went back to sleep. An hour after that Colleen woke me up again, taking her life into her hands as she did it. But we left without incident, Hannah going to work, Clare going horse-riding (huh?) and Colleen and I Christmas-shopping. I am now the proud owner of a bag of chocolate truffle coffee beans, a purple Magic Eight ball, a Thorton's chocolate message plaque with "Morocco!" on it, and nine Terry's Chocolate Oranges. Anyone detecting a theme here?
Heh. And I am now at home and dreading school. Life is teh suck where school is concerned. Wah. Am wrapping presents and watching Angel and avoiding work.
Last night, then. Pedar flew out at about quarter to eight, but his incredible paranoia meant we were there much earlier than we needed to be, which I didn't mind so much. I miss him when he's away, and he's away such a lot now. He's got yet another important post - Deanery College Adviser, I believe - that results in him being in London half the time. He says that if I get into Oxford, he'll meet me for lunch every time he's down there, a thought that makes me smile vaguely whenever I think of it. He only got back from London on Friday, in fact, and yesterday he was off again, only further this time. Which is a bad thing because he's gone, and a bad thing because without him here my mother and I try our level best to kill each other. Weirdly, we haven't come to blows yet, but it might be because I've spent most of the time Pedar's been gone out.
After we got back from the airport, then, I was only home for about an hour, running round the house like an idiot getting ready, before going straight back out again to the train station. Much to my mother's chagrin, I was going to a party with (some of) the resident lunatics at LIPA. I wasn't the only one who found the venue somewhat mystifying - LIPA? - but it's for charity, which does, as they say, explain all sorts of things which couldn't be explained otherwise. I was early, for once - the others were all running late - and it was about ten thirty before we managed to get up Bold Street past the bombed-out church. The place is opposite the Anglican Cathedral, which looks rather spooky at night. Why are churches spooky? The bombed-out one I can just about understand - it's probably the only church in the world that has trees growing on the inside - but surely by definition churches shouldn't be scary?
Anyway. LIPA is the Liverpool Institute for Performing Arts, and it's actually a good venue for a party. It was boiling hot, as it always is, but the bar was surprisingly easy to tackle. We - that is, Hannah, Clare, Colleen and me - got vodka and orange, Malibu and peach Archers in various combinations and settled at a table to mellow up a bit. Clare and Col were on a quest. "Get Iona drunk!"
"I don't drink," I protested, vainly.
"We are the Fellowship of the Bottle and we are on a Quest," Clare intoned solemnly, then spoiled the effect by giggling wildly at something Colleen said. The party was to raise funds for the Birkenhead Leavers' Do; hence hundreds of people I hadn't seen since primary school were there and quite a lot seemed to recognise me. Anyway, this somehow resulted in tales of past exploits being spun round the table. Clare wins the prize, being the only person who has ever actually been drunk enough to acquire a traffic cone. And playing Scrabble. "I don't get it," Hannah said.
I didn't for a minute, then it sunk in and I tried not to fall off my chair. It's because of this, I think. Clare's mind works in interesting ways when she's drunk. When it was the second round, Colleen slammed another bottle of Archers in front of me. "Drink!" she ordered, sounding not unlike Father Jack, and I drank. I hate to admit it, but I love Archers to the point where I wish it wasn't alcoholic so I could actually drink as much of it as I wanted. I drank.
Hence the lunatics eventually got to see their Watcher, if not drunk, at least very tipsy. Hannah said, "Let's do the dancing thing," and for once I wasn't sober enough to argue. The music was quite good, better than it usually is at these things. So we did the dancing thing, with much laughter and ribald comments from the peanut gallery. While I was on the dancefloor, Hannah whispered, "Slash at nine o'clock."
It took a minute for my alcohol-addled brain to work this out, and in the end Hannah turned me in the right direction where we saw a pair of boys dancing cosily. Cute. Actually, the music was good enough for us not to sit out for quite some time, and when we did at last, there was only one chair. Accordingly, Clare and Hannah shared it, with Colleen in Clare's lap and me and Hannah's. It was surprisingly comfortable. While we were there, Phillipa (chance acquaintance) arrived bearing the sad news that the bar, supposed to be open till two, had closed. It was half twelve.
But I think we got over it. I was sobering up, and so were the others; we danced for a whole longer, Hannah and I to one side while Clare and Colleen were passionately outing themselves. I nudged Hannah and grinned. Colleen flipped me the bird.
And at about two-ish, they played McFly and we took it as our cue to leave. Getting a taxi at two in the morning is a lot easier than you would think. At least, we managed it by dint of extreme stubbornness, and fetched up right where we wanted to be about twenty minutes later. Hannah was putting up with us all for the night, minus Emily. She was supposed to come to LIPA from her work party, but due to a deeply implausible sequence of events (she got food poisoning, then drank, then wasn't allowed to leave by her workmates, then stayed the night at her boss's house?) it was just the four of us. We were good. We got in, laid out the bedding, shivered in the cold and promptly fell asleep.
Five hours later Colleen woke me up. I said, "Hannah, when do you have to be in work?"
"Ten," she said.
I went back to sleep. An hour after that Colleen woke me up again, taking her life into her hands as she did it. But we left without incident, Hannah going to work, Clare going horse-riding (huh?) and Colleen and I Christmas-shopping. I am now the proud owner of a bag of chocolate truffle coffee beans, a purple Magic Eight ball, a Thorton's chocolate message plaque with "Morocco!" on it, and nine Terry's Chocolate Oranges. Anyone detecting a theme here?
Heh. And I am now at home and dreading school. Life is teh suck where school is concerned. Wah. Am wrapping presents and watching Angel and avoiding work.
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no subject
on 2004-12-12 05:42 pm (UTC)