
Bloody hellfire. An
extremely subdued birthday, due entirely to my birthday celebrations the night before, which began at 7pm in South London Pacific (pictured), and ended in cheerful disarray in my flat at 10.30 the next morning. It was superb to see everyone there—and, incidentally, an inadvertent logistical triumph. Since both I and
cornfedpig had signally failed to book ahead in time, we hadn’t been able to reserve any areas of the bar; others had, and the place was due to fill up completely, while we had to make do with one small area of unreserved seating. Yet altogether 21 people, with the odd staggered departure and arrival, were able to arrive and
make merry without disaster. The only exception was when my esteemed colleague and her boyfriend turned up after seeing “Guys and Dolls” (“Don Johnson’s in it.” “How was he?” “I think he was drunk”) and had to wait out in the cold for ten minutes. Sorry about that.
Thank you everyone for a cheery and convivial night, not to mention PRESENTS.