A very old friend pitched up on the doorstep at F-C Mansions yesterday.
I've known him for almost 25 years, since university. Much to my chagrin he looks just like Clive Owen and is wearing just as well.
However he goes from one woman to the next, never being able to settle down. There hwave been countless partners. Some we got to really like, others who lasted mere weeks. Once there was an almost marriage to an American girl, but to marry just for a visa was the wrong thing to to. Along the way he's fathered a child - my godson - whom he sees often enough but not that often. Where will it all end.
He always seems to me to be a bit adrift. It's not like he has trouble finding anyone - women are falling over themselves to date him. We set him up with a single friend once but hte moment they met I knew it was never going to happen. The last time I saw around Christmas a leggy blonde called Lulu answered the door. Of course she's history now. He just can't commit. Perhaps it's to do with being adopted. Abandonment issues.
Anyhoo, my point is, he'd just been to a party (and looked like it). Now, I don't know about you, but aside from weddings, birthdays, etc., I don't remember the last time I went to a party that someone had thrown simply for the hell of it.
Once upon a time, that's what every weekend consisted of, particularly in those post student new to London days. There were parties constantly. We travelled miles to get there, often got lost, slept on floors or wherever, sometimes even al fresco, usually woke up with horrific hangovers after x cans of Red Stripe and always took my own music and insisted on putting it on. (I'm blushing at the thought of this it's so rude).
So at 43 I can't think of anything worse. I like my own bed too much and I get taxis everywhere. If you think I'm getting the night bus from Southgate you're very much mistaken. I just won't go. A friend who's a bit of an overgrown student despite having two children, recently suggested that for her birthday, she might hire a cottage, get loads of people down and then we could have a party and people could sleep 'wherever'. Mrs F-C and I were immediately appalled. Can you think of anything you'd rather not do than sleep on a floor after a party? With people you didn't know? The idea was instantly dismissed as absurd.
I know what I like. And while it was fun while it lasted, there comes a time where sedate dinners and quiet conversation are far, far more appealing than late-night rave-ups. I'm not a huge Sunday lunch fan either, as it takes up so much of the day. Time is precious enough as it is. And as for barbecues - never invite me.
Do you feel the same way? Or is it just me?
