Last night the husband and his mad projectionist mate put on an impromptu disco for young and old alike at a really cool venue up the hill.
In true rock and roll fashion the police showed up to pull the plug on the sound system...
(Okay it was only 9:21 pm)
In true rock and roll fashion the dance floor stayed full for most of the night...
(Okay, so it was mostly populated by 'under-eights' and a smattering of Abba-loving 'mums'...but still)
We reckon the grumpy geezer who lives next door to the venue was responsible for calling in the law, but he left this morning, and so this can't be verified.
(Though his response to being cordially invited by the husband the other day, "Like Hell you're putting a night on! I sleep right beside there and the music keeps me awake at night!" is pretty much an admission of guilt anyway..non?
He's a big hulk of a man who several weeks ago threatened to 'drown' Dumpie in the sea after getting hit with a bit of sand. Well actually his words were, "I'm going to kill you" and then he went on to describe in detail the method of drowning he intended to use. I was so horrified I couldn't respond - my mother lioness rearing her mighty head, ready to bite his head off. In fact, I've spent the past several weeks cursing under my breath everytime we pass him sipping his Pina Colada's on the beach...grrrr. Dumpie, bless his little heart, stood right up to him, hands on hips, and said, "No you is not! I going to kill YOU!" That's my tiger.)
Anyway, the night was a success in that the husband got to spin some tunes, fiddle with some knobs and hang out behind the bar sipping Tuborg.
As for me, well any excuse to scrub up, 'un-scummify' myself, and don something tight and sparkly...well i'm there. One of the mums said, "Wow, you look nice. I didn't recognise you!", which is Goa-speak I imagine for "You've had a shower and brushed that rat's nest of brown ball you call hair! And you're wearing something besides those tatty rags you always swan about in..."
Fair play. It's all true. I even got an appreciative glance from the husband when I walked in - and for a headphone wearing, knob-twiddling DJ deep in da tunes, that's saying something.
Egg and Dumps enjoyed themselves too. Dumpie spent the evening chasing and getting chased by the same little girl. Near the end of the night he came up to me and said, "She loves me. You order chips so we share otay?" (So much for the anorexia theory...)
Eggie started the night off strong whilst playing musical statues on the dance floor, amusing me to no end by pulling the most hilarious (dare I call them dance??) moves I've ever witnessed in public. He even made his father look like John Travolta in comparison. Oh well, at least he didn't pull out the old 'giant itch' move which was last spotted at his Valentine's Disco in London. I still have trouble understanding where that one came from.
I think it's time I give him private dance lessons. Not that I'm so great, but the poor guy's social life is going to start to suffer if he can't learn to break a few moves in a fashion that is not reminiscent of one about to begin an epileptic fit.
(Darling Egg, by the time you read this, never mind because you will be the world's greatest dancer - just you wait)