A marvellous party

My friend Ed is now a businessman of some distinction. He runs a firm called discoo that appears to make T-shirts and Glamorous Stuff. Their first birthday party was a predictable medley of free cocktails, thin people, and lapdancing.

I got there late - due to it being in Covent Garden. The only way to find somewhere in Covent Garden is to ask Someone In Authority. Streets rarely have names, and only occasionally numbers. All the nightclubs look like hairdressers, and all the salons look like pie shops. The only shop you can recognise is Lush, and that's cos it smells.

The lovely Verity was the bouncer. She's petite, classy, and seems to know every Fridge-Shaped-Man in London (Once heard the fearsome bruiser outside Ronnie Scott's refer to her as "my crew"). Ahead of me in the queue were two drunken businessman, trying to blag their way past V, watched with some interest by two beefy doormen:

DRUNK: Let me in, luv.
VERITY: It's guest list only, I'm afraid.
DRUNK: Oh, come on...
VERITY: No, sorry mate. Tonight's not your night. It's a private party for Discoo.
DRUNK: Yeah, well, they're clients of mine.
VERITY: I'm sure they are, and I'm sure you were invited - but you didn't reply.
DRUNK: Look. This guy with me, he's a client of mine. You're making me look a fool in front of him.
VERITY: I'm not the one making you look a fool. Go away.

The Drunks shuffle away. The doormen applaud Verity quietly, then turn to glare at me.

Verity drags me inside. "Drink?" she demands, "Only we've got £500 behind the bar and twenty minutes in which to spend it." She gets me a Mai-Tai. Well, a jug of Mai-Tai. Things get orange and everyone is lovely.

As always happens when I'm somewhere interesting, I bump into Alex from work. I never see him at work - always at parties, staggering past me, and announcing "I. Am. Wasted!" He was with a friend who worked for Popbitch, who was looking for a girl called LJ. He'd gone out with her 8 years ago and "she made the best compilation tapes".

I *knew* who LJ was. I'd met her at the last of these Ed-type things. I think. I wandered over to her. "Hi! LJ! Your ex-boyfriend from 8 years ago is here. He still loves you."

"That's marvellous," she said, excitedly, then her face fell, "Only I'm not LJ."

In the background, there was poll dancing going on. I suddenly found this interesting.

Wonderfully, Digby was there. Digby's a lovely friend from school. Who, it turns out, has been reading this blog. Er. Hello, Digby! Digby also took a charming picture. It appears to be of Verity and, uh, me. I have no memory of this. Ah well.

Digby had brought along an American comedian called Eddie Ifft, who was having a reasonably great time. Well, until introduced to a woman who yelled, "Go on! Say something funny!"