Thursday, 1 January 2009

New Year's Eve bash

The body count this morning indicates that the ten drinkers consumed sixteen and a half bottles of Nicolas Feuillatte and one of Piper Hideandseek or whatever it's called. When Paul came round to collect his coldbag (and some uneaten cake), he said: 'Is that all?' Actually, come to think about it, it's not really that much over seven hours, is it? (though it didn't feel thay way at 3 a.m. on 1/1/09). Amazingly, no other alcohol was knowingly imbibed (apart from Andrea's three bottles of Carlsberg Low Alcohol lager - she has a very good excuse.) So I have nine unopened reds and six whites to do something useful with. Perhaps I should have another party ...
Plugging the laptop into the hi-fi and letting people loose on iTunes was a very good move. People took turns to sit down and play DJ so that I could carry on dancing with impunity. A mark of a good party - I was forced by Paul, at two o'clock, to put on 'Trampled Underfoot' by Led Zeppelin (on vinyl!)
Just before midnight we googled the original Robbie Burns lyrics to Auld Lang Syne and displayed them on the telly so that they could be totally ignored by all.
The food mostly vanished in minutes, including about a kilo and a half of chilli con carne. The one major miscalculation on my part was french bread. What can I do with six stale baguettes (out of eight purchased)? Don't say 'breadcrumbs', that lot would keep me in weiner schnitzel and meatballs for months.
Clearing up is mostly done, but my so-called non-stick roasting tin might be a goner after Gordon Ramsey's suspect spicy sticky chicken drumsticks did their worst. Val suggested simmering it on the stove with some Fairy liquid, 'like making gravy', but my appetite's not quite up to that yet.


  1. Still got the baguettes? Google "sopa de ajo". Sounds like an excellent bash.

  2. Clearing up is nearly complete now - a good example of the old project management law that 90% of the work takes 90% of the time, whilst the remaining 10% of the work takes the other 90% of the time.
    The roasting tin is restored, thanks to the miraculous healing powers of Cif cream cleaner. Cif used to called Jif, but was rebranded back in the eighties. I'm reliably informed (by my imagination) that this was due to the inability of foreigners to agree on how to pronounce the letter J. So now we and the French call it Sif, whilst others call it, variously, Chif, Kif or Thif. I have no idea whether this is true.

  3. Actually I think there were only nine champ-drinkers, Paul B was on juice. Also several were diluting it with juice. So 16.5 bottles x 9 = 1.375 litres each, average, I suspect mine was nearer 2. Thanks for the mesmery. I kept to juice the following night at next door's do.
    It was indeed a great night, thanks again bro.