friday night

[hnpcc]

The zoo jazz was good, although thanks to Springvale Rd being the epicentre for evil on Friday the 13th it took me far, far too long to get home and so we only were there for an hour. Honestly, how can one major road have an accident per intersection? On a clear, dry, warm night? It's possessed, I tell you. We also didn't see any animals except a duck flying overhead and a chirpy bird of a non-waterfowl variety. And lots and lots and lots of Homo sapiens. Still, we found our group, managed to eat our picnic souvalakis and declined the offer to come up and swing dance.

Getting to the cocktail party proved more of a problem. I got to the right street, then discovered that there was no number 37. There was a 137, a 36, a 38 and a 39, but definitely no 37. 137 and 39 were having parties, as was 87 and 67. Being slightly paranoid about accidentally walking in on someone else's party I went home to look up the address from the party e-mail. It said 37. So I looked up the three month old "I'm moving house" e-mail. It said 39. My friend does not actually know what number she lives at. ;-)

By this time it was 10.30pm, and given that I had a physio appointment at 9.45am and was tired still from the bloody cats waking me up the night before, I rang and said "sorry, can't make it, will catch up later - and where do you live again? Are you sure?" ;-)

That was when Dean decided to tell me that a muso friend of his was dropping by to pick up CDs.

Which would be fine, except that musos tend to have a different idea of time to the rest of us diurnal mortals. He was going to come around at 9.30pm, but eventually made it at 11.50pm. I chatted with his partner, while the guys played around on Dean's guitars. The conversation on our end kept dropping in and out as both the partner and I were quite tired - one minute we'd be in animated conversation, then a long pause, then "do you want some more coffee?"

At about 1am both of us decided that we really should stop them playing the guitars at least (we do have neighbours on at least one side), and so stuck our heads around the door to find Dean's friend playing along to a CD.

"Oh", says the muso, "I'm just pretending I'm Yngwie Malmsteen".

The partner and I nearly choked laughing. This is a guy, rapidly approaching 40, who's a professional musician, who's played with Bruce Kulick...

"How old are you, 15?!?"

Still giggling (well I was), I waved them goodbye. Just as the cats started up again.

I'm buying a supersoaker this week.