Dog Days of Summer BBQ

Camden, London
The Flying Suit Fruity party on Saturday was a riotous success in many ways. In others it was less so. People flocked to Bole Mansions for the final farewell to the Dog Days of Summer BBQ. Booze...well that flowed...uh...huh. People from the five oceans and seven seas of my friendships; they came, they ate, they drank and they did chat.

England won a momentous Rugby World Cup semi-final against France thereby progressing to a very unexpected final against South Africa this coming weekend...but not without casualties.

I was almost lynched.

I forgot that I had programmed the TV recorder doo-dah-thingy (known by the residents of Bole Mansions...errr...that'd be me...as The Nuclear Sub for its mind-boggling complexity of operation) to record A Beautiful Mind. Fine. Well, no, not fine really as the film was on at about the same time as the second half of The Rugby Game. A quirk of the recorder is that it plays what you're recording, not necessarily what you or a large number of rugby fevered folk want to watch. There really is Jack Shit you, I (Jack Spratticus) or indeed Jack Bauer could do about it once the nuclear sub heads out on its course.

So at the nail biting, quick bleeding, piss stained crotch of The Rugby Game's crux, the film, let me remind you - A Beautiful Mind, started playing thereby usurping The Rugby Game with Ron Howard's best directorial efforts and seriously disgruntling a worryingly large number of camel coloured corduroy jacket toting, atypically angry types who were within a gnat's nut sack of spatchcocking me on the BBQ. I took solice in...well...more booze really.

Apparently my last conscious uttering was to the hot coals of the BBQ, something about 'it was an easy mistake to make' and 'no one understands me' whilst I caressed their rosy prettiness with a bamboo stick. Spratticus was declared collapsed and in a coma at 00:15, Sun October 14, 2007.



(L) Party food; (R) Seb & Iona




(L) Me looking perplexed; (R) Matthew Ledger in full England kit



(L) Christina & Jo buying another 6 bottles of prosecco; (R) Jo, Tom & Imo


(L) Just before I was lynched; (R) Carl & Leo



(R) Shelly & ear arm; (R) Simon, Ollie, Lizzie, Shelly

I say, it's party time - chocks away!

London
Well, it will be PARRR-TAAAY TIME on Sat 13 Oct.

Hey there, fancy donning some fluffy shin
warmers and getting flying suit fruity?
Of course you do!

Sat 13 Oct 2007
@ my current digs in Camden, London

Rock up 2pm onwards.
Kids early, big kids anytime after you wake up.

Moustaches welcome.

[Email me for hard copy invite and map. If you don't know my email address, leave a TAG or comment and explain why you should get an invite...top three beggars get one.]

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Did I just hear that a baby of 17lbs was born in Russia this week. Ouch. That's just plain wrong.

And can anyone explain how a coffee percolator works. It's been perplexing and also fascinating me lately. How come all the water goes from the bottom up that little pipe, through the grounds and into the top bit. That said, if someone was blow-torching my arse, I'd try and crawl up a drainpipe to get away. I have been drinking far too much coffee just because I love seeing the oily, chocolate brown liquid froth out of the spout.


I even made another pot to take this picture! Don't worry, it won't go to waste, I'll drink it down...then go on a caffeine wired rampage around Camden ripping the wing mirrors off cars and flashing my knob at old ladies. Should fit in pretty well with the local YOOF...and bag an ASBO if I'm lucky.

And seeings as this post is stumbling around like a Saturday night drunkard, I have a dilema. I hate chavtronica but I really like Kate Nash. What to do? It must be all this hanging out in Camden.

Oh, and lastly, marrow fat peas. Why call yourselves that guys? I think you need to hire a new PR agency as you're not bad lads, just got a bad name.