Saw in twenty-oh-six at a fun party in Lancaster – where get quite a mansion, just for not living in London.
As well as enjoying Andrew Marr in a kilt, we discussed nearly every topic there is. Somewhat railed into the small hours against Serge Gainsbourg, and his inexplicable appeal to the ladies.
I mean, his most famously erotic song is all about slipping in and out between his intended’s kidneys – a vivid and intimate image, but not a very nice one. He’s also done jolly pop-nonsense about the antics of that amusing cad, Jack.
Therefore “translated” some of the other tunes warbling from the music machine. A serenade for Ian Brady, for example. And Dr Crippen despairing how, when getting shot of a girl he fancies, she’s only goes and clogs the plughole.
Made the ladies laugh, anyway. Though not as much as with my Serge-is-a-tit “dancing”.
Strangely, have felt a bit rough all day, even in swanky first-class with it’s complimentary flap-jacks. Stinking of beer ‘cos I’d run out of clothes, and all.
New year’s resolution #1: drink a bit less sometimes