Doctor Dave's 60th party

Sat.27.09.08. As promised the new sender has arrived and it has been fitted by Chris. The new badge, kindly sent by Haydn Davies, has been sprayed and polished ready to be placed on the body of the car.

Tonight is the evening of Doctor Dave’s 60^th birthday party to be held at St.Pats’ Social Club. In true fashion he has invited the world and his wife: but in this case ‘wives’ both past and present. There will be two bands, a female club singer and a Ghanaian drummer, hot pot for 150 people, the bar will be open until everyone has had enough, guests from ‘awl ova the world’, fancy dress being optional. Pressure had been building for most of the week, the tension rising as he didn’t want his two worlds colliding, both from the past and present.  

By 8 o’clock no guests had arrived, the room was totally empty, an adjacent room was full of rugby lads who had just returned from a successful journey to Hull where they had clawed, bitten and battered their way to a victory. They had been over served, they were becoming unnecessarily noisy. The backline for both bands had been set up, sound checks quickly completed. My band was to kick off the evening, but when? Dave arrived with his drinking buddies from the afternoon, his aged and only living relative auntie Ann plus one of his past and present girlfriends, Pernil from Denmark. Slowly but surely his guests began to arrive; David and Adele, Lowtie, daughter, son and Sheila, Preacher and Carole, Kenny and Norma, Chris, Big Geoff plus new bride along with other motor traders, Ash and his mate, faces from the past and present; all parties would ensure the evening would be a success.  

Half way through our set the female club singer arrived with her chaperone, a trampy bleached blond with enormous breasts which she proudly displayed 8 inches in front of her building line. Black low cut frock, shades, high heel sneakers, cheap jewellery rattling, every head turned, no one noticed her giant pet ape at the bar ordering the drinks. For what ever reason the set went well, the good Doctor joining us for ‘walking the dog’ and ‘hoochie coochie man’  to conclude our contribution to the night. Grabbing my gear from the stage, packing it away quickly I managed to load the car before the club singer had finished murdering ‘I will survive’ and ‘that fuckin’ song from Titanic’. I returned to discover she was only half way through her set encouraged on by her small posse of primary school jail bait, tottering around the dance floor swaying unsteadily from the effects of cheap cider and blue pop. The lady with the big tits was putting herself around using every opportunity to bounce her ample chest to the rhythm of ‘girls just wanna have fun’. Dave was remarkably in control, not falling about paying close attention to his Danish visitor, Pernil, who in the past has proved to be unpredictable at best. The club singer finally gave it up after 3 encores but promised to return if requested. By the time ‘Enoch’ the master drummer from Ghana had banged out a few ‘sea shanties’ as he referred to his material; I had joined the smokers outside toward the rear of the building. The blond joined us met by a greeting from ‘Winston’ who requested the proposal of buying one of puppies with the pink nose, to which she responded by displaying the left one with pink nose. She certainly held every ones attention, strutting up and down, raising her skirt just high enough whilst squatting down, legs apart. All the males in the company suddenly remembered various ‘breast’ experiences from their past but all agreed that they had never witnessed such a bold pair. But, it is always difficult playing catch up when all about you are talking shite under the influence of too much ale so I made my way to the quieter end of the bar to enjoy the first six numbers from ‘Billy and the Temperamentals’ which, against all expectations was quite acceptable, if not really supreme considering their usual disorganised debacles. The evening was becoming a great celebration, the entertainment had sufficient spread to please all, the hotpot was troughed, the bar remained open, but most surprisingly, Dave remained in control, flowing from one group to another like a professional, perfect host. The disaster that we all expected never happened. People danced, mainly foolishly but no one cared, the odd drunk stumbled, the jailbait substituted adolescent gropings from their male counterparts to hugging and kissing each other, the blond together with Ash gave a perfect display of dirty dancing while the ape propped up the bar, Lowtie’s undercarriage remained intact, the band got stronger, even Winston faultlessly completed the construction of a shed,  with the ‘Doc’ still sober their confidence grew carrying more unsure bodies to the floor. It had been a memorable night as much for the lack of incident; it had been a normal party. The following day’s inquest may be a different matter.