As Paris rapidly descends into the bleak miserable abyss – otherwise known as the European winter – I find myself increasingly unwilling to leave the warm soothing embrace of bed and kitties and venture forth into the harsh wilderness. A tad melodramatic you may think, and you’d be right but I’ve never been known for my sense of perspective or for having a particularly strong grip on reality. To be honest it really only takes the offer of booze and the prospect of seeing half naked men dancing about to drag me out of my comforting cocoon like a bewildered butterfly drawn to a sparkly mirror ball.
And so it was this past weekend when I was coerced into attending a little shindig called Doctor Love – seeing it was a night I hadn’t been to and a club I hadn’t yet disgraced myself in, I was more than eager to give it a whirl. First off we indulged in a few pre-drinks at the lovely Lachlan’s lodgings. Well it was only supposed to be a bit of a warm up but after a bottle of wine and a few cocktails – that may have been just me mind you – we were significantly more than toasty to face the night. I even managed to corral a reluctant Julien into coming out despite his vigorous protests that he’s been out far too much of late – and they say I’m a bad influence…and by ‘they’ I mean anyone who’s ever met me…well those who can remember what happened at any rate.
Upon arrival we were forced to queue like commoners, as sadly my people hadn’t organised my VIP entrance – heads will roll I tell you. After a little time in the frostiness we were granted asylum inside, although to be honest with our blood alcohol limits it could have been a blizzard and we’d barely had noticed. Strangely whilst purchasing our tickets I somehow managed to be charged less than the rest of my party. A few theories abounded as to why, ranging from unobservant staff to random fabulousness or possibly a blonde discount – my golden locks and general ditziness must be good for something after all.
So once inside I noticed there seemed to be some sort of Candyland theme in progress with lollies being handed out at the door, ridiculously sweet cocktails at the bar – my favourite being the Cheri Cherry – some sort of vodka/red bully/syrup concoction – and a mass of inflatables lollipops hanging from the ceiling. Indeed, I’m sure quite a few lollipops were licked during and after the party.
Now while there were an abundance of buff boys and good music I sadly admit to finding fault with both. Firstly hardly any of the aforementioned lusty lads went topless, although that didn’t stop me around 3 am – actually rather late in the proceedings for me I must admit. Admittedly the DJs did play songs I love, which did afford me the opportunity to dance it up, however I am fairly sure that my iPod shuffle could have done a far better job mixing. Despite this we had a rollicking good time and unsurprisingly I was the last gay standing of my group at the end of the evening – that being closing time at 6am. At which point I made the thoroughly sensible, and completely uncharacteristic, decision to trundle back home to the sleeping husband and excitable kitties to stage my own restful recovery party – it’s amazing how soundly one can sleep after two valiums and a glass of wine.
Happily I’m now all refreshed and ready to take on another working week – I can’t tell you how much time and effort it takes to keep up to date with all my trashy TV.