Sunday, 19 October 2008

Saturday October 18th

We woke up on Saturday morning at 8.30, as we had all arranged to meet at nine for breakfast. On our way down to the restaurant every member of staff smiled and bade us good morning. Whilst the Bristol Hilton may not be the most salubrious, the staff were all absolutely charming. And then we arrived at the restaurant. We were sat at a table for six, and served coffee and tea. We then began to serve ourselves from the very good buffet. As business was fairly brisk, table space was at a premium. As I sat down with my bacon and scrambled eggs, I glanced a couple waiting to be seated. The Maitre D' reassured them, with unsolicited familiarity, that she was 'just waiting for two old biddies to get a move on and finish their muesli.' A small amount of coffee exited my nose, as I suppressed a laugh. Her candour was the icing on the Bristol Hilton cake.

The rest of the day passed without much incident. Adrian dropped my wife and I back home, and I assumed the alcohol-recovery position on the sofa, for most of the day.

In the evening we headed to the Gower in Swansea to celebrate the 40th birthday of our friend Eddie. I probably would have concocted some lame excuse not to drive an hour to a party, if it were somebody else, but Eddie is an absolute gentleman. He is one of the rare breed of people that is liked by everybody who meets him. And he likes them. Unless they are Robert Mugabe. He had been on the same bill as me the Thursday before, and had been very good, unlike myself, and had invited my wife and I to his party. He told me how to get there, what time it started, and informed me that if we needed to stay in Swansea, we could stay at his place. What a great bloke. However, he failed to tell me that it was a fancy dress party. What a wanker.

My wife and I walked into the club at Murton, at 8.30pm, to be confronted by Mr T, John McEnroe and Phil Oakey, from out of The Human League. Evidently it was an 80s themed party. Eddie, already an unnaturally handsome individual, was dressed as the lead singer of Glam Metal outfit Poison, replete with eye-liner, long black wig, boots and skin-tight, zebra-print, trousers. If I was a woman I would have felt the urge to leap on Eddie there and then. In fact, as a man, I felt the urge to leap on Eddie there and then. This made me feel confused and dirty. But in a good way.

It was a great party and the costumes worn by everyone, except my wife and I, were brilliant. It struck me, during the evening, that men never really grow up. This was highlighted by the fact that someone had painstakingly removed the 'tails' part of the large 'Cocktails' sign, Arnold from Diff'rent Strokes was seen to grope the jockstrap-clad testicles of Leroy from Fame, and I witnessed Timmy Mallet using a balloon penis to virtually-bum Rod Hull. And Emu.

We left the party, with it still in full-swing, to drive back to Cardiff, with ZZ Top ringing in our ears. Happy birthday Eddie.

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