and how the smell of lavender makes her swell and if I just could get her to tell me her name again cause to tell you the truth after the third time she told me I just plain forgot.
We’ve been talking about love, life, and what we’d all like to be when we all grow up one day. Of course I respond as honestly as I can and reply I haven’t the slightest idea. The guy with the straggly hair(his name is Jeff and he’s a bad ass rock hero) is still writing in what used to be my notebook. I ask him if I can see and all he can say is to go away and that he’ll show me when he’s good and ready. Of course I have to tell you he had a big great crazy smile on his face when he said that to me.
The thing about throwing parties, especially parties which you have no idea why you are throwing them is to give the illusion that you know why you are throwing them. It’s kind of like life. No one really knows why we’re all living but you know we’ll always fight hard to keep doing it.
By this stage more guests keep showing up, there’s Stuart Braunstein, Sarabeth and even John Thompson from Models International (where do they all come from?) and a guy who runs Ferrari, but what do I care about fast cars when I’m too busy living a fast life?
We go out for a smoke and ask various members of the public if anyone wants to volunteer to be Scallywag’s fluffer (that’s me, the editor in chief of this scandalous magazine). Of course there are no takers but I think this one French girl thought about if before continuing walking down the street with the silliest laugh you ever did hear.
Smokes finished we returned inside, got ourselves a round of gin (always the gin, but you don’t have to tell everybody) and proceeded to dance, laugh, giggle and sway to the music, or rather slave to the music. By now straggly hair is finished writing and when I ask him to show me what’s his written I start laughing my head off- some silly story about him drinking at some picnic and then getting lucky with some girl but only to contract lyme disease cause it all happened in the woods. So much for asking straggly rock gods to write fun stories about gin and lime.
Anyway, you kind of had to be there but if you weren’t you know the old maxim – there’ll always be a next time…