I meet Mark early evening and we make our way to Steve's place. MP seemed very enthusiastic about the party and not at all his normal cynical self. I suppose this is because he is looking forward to meeting Diane in a social encounter. We are three quarters of the length of Reigate Avenue when I stop. Ahead of us a pretty looking woman has got out of a car stopped outside of 143. She delves into the back of the vehicle and pull out what appears to be a tray of various items. Its clearly Beverley and she had made good on her promise to provide some delicacies for the evening.
“Wait a minute.” I say, stopping. “Let’s give Steve his moment, yes?” We watch Beverley enter the house carrying her culinary efforts and then dawdle on the pavement near the park. Steve had asked us to arrive early and I wonder if the idea was that we would be there before Beverley. If so then he will be disappointed - or possibly not.
7.00pm. Steve, Mark Beverley, and I stand around in a loose embarrassed group. Like most people who see each other during the week, we find that in a social situation we have nothing to say. At one point I find myself - to my horror - talking about the weather.
We are the only people in the house at the moment, Steve wanted help setting up but with four of us on the case, this was accomplished in very short order and now we have nothing to do. I resist the urge to open a can - for all of ten minutes.
8.00pm. Stuart arrives along with the majority of the guests. I have been nibbling the food that Beverley brought with her and trying hard not to get through too many cans, but with the arrival of the main body of the guest for the night I can now crack open another tin of off-license death brew with a clear conscious if not a clear head.
Meanwhile Steve, who started to have doubts about the advisability of holding his party about three days before it began, is eyeing each crumble of food that falls to the floor with manic hatred of a white Rhodesian at a reggae concert! If looks could kill there would be a lot of dead bodies right now.
9.00pm. Locked in a corner with Rod Watkins, Elaine Ashton has adopted a defence posture consisting of attempting to consume an entire bottle of Bacardi and to be fair to her doing a damn good job of it. Elaine was until recently one of the sixth formers but a few weeks of the nomadic life of the Gaynesford student appears to have convinced her that she would be better off elsewhere and she left for parts unknown. From time to time, Beverley who appears to have appointed herself in charge of social arrangements appears to force feed people more from the seemingly inexhaustible trays of food.
10.00pm. The party is in full swing. Kim, I already knew, was not attending. Her parents do not approve of her going to parties like this and insist they collect her by no later than midnight with those strictures and conditions Kim decided to give it a miss. Stuart and Rod Watkins are campaigning hard for the title of Most annoying individuals. Seems a bit unfair on Rod since Stuart has had so much practice!
I find Mark near the door, he is waiting for Diane who is either having mini cab problems or is being fashionable late, Mark is unclear as to which applies. As I wander away Diane appears complaining loudly about the time it has taken to get there. I leave them to it…
In the front room a collection of party people are attempting to come to terms with what Steve feels is 'party music.' There is some disgruntled mumbling as another Led Zeppelin track is followed by something loud and raucous from Ted Nugent.
10.30pm. The mood mellows a little. Even Steve who up to now has been paralyzed by a combination of fears about the state of the house and whether or not people were enjoying the evening has managed to sit down, eat, drink (more) and listen to some music. In the kitchen, Elaine is being violently sick into a bucket. By mutual and almost telepathic agreement we decide not to tell Steve about this. Apparently she had managed to consume the better part of that bottle of rum after which she had been spotted snogging with Rod. Exactly which one of these had caused her to be ill was unclear.
11.00pm. The lager has been exhausted and to tell the truth I am not far from the same condition. People are mellow in a fashion that only comes from drink and the release of tension whe
n you just don’t fucking care any more! Laying on the floor in a crucifix position Lee Burrowes is screaming “Great White BUFFALO!” No one knows why - least of all Lee.
Beverley is in one corner being instructed on how to play the air guitar by Steve who has either forgotten his fears or is now too drunk to bother about them. Beverley is waving her long dark hair in various directions encouraged by her tutor. I doubt that ever in her life will Beverley Patricia Simmons have cause to play air guitar to Ted Nugent’s “Great White Buffalo” but with various outlying bits oscillating in sympathy to her head movement it certainly makes for good cabaret.
“Well,it happened long time ago, in the new magic land.
The Indian and the buffalo, they existed hand in hand....
The Indian needed food, he needed skins for a roof.
But he only took what they needed,baby.
Millions of buffalo were the proof.”
Midnight: Steve is finally persuaded that the world does not live by heavy metal alone and he puts something less racous on the decks. One or two couples begin that slow dancing that is one part rhythm and nine parts upright sex. But Steve decides that the ambiance is not right and turns down the lights. To be exact he turns off the lights. The room is plunged into darkness, amidst the screams and of course giggles someone manages to find the light switch again. Eventually we decide to leave the light switch off, but open the serving hatch to the kitchen where the bright light offers a disapproving Cyclopean eye on the proceedings.
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