I had my blog birthday the other day. I completely missed that bad boy. Basically I have come to the conclusion that the real reason I started a blog in December 2009 was not heartache but sheer loneliness. It’s almost Christmas and;
•Twinkle’s rehearsing (and opening tomorrow actually… be prepared for Wednesday hangover)
•Irish is in Ireland (doing a play)
•Blondie is off filming some wartime epic
•Flutey is doing Panto
•Maxie is having a baby
•Aussie is picking out puppies back in Australia
•DC is back in the States
•SGF is shagging movie stars in LA
•Eton Boy is slowly morphing into a French duke across the channel
Ergo – Ritzi is one lonely bitch in December.
Good job it’s party season then!
Swooping in to save me from a world of corporate gifts and vacuous drinks events was the Maestro. As per last year, he’d gotten in their first, reserving the last Saturday before Christmas as his very own Chiswick Christmas was back in October. Last year, he provided us with such quality tidbits as;
‘I was going to get a chef in, but they wouldn’t let me’
And, upon smashing a glass;
‘Nobody move! Where the fuck does the cleaner keep the dustpan and brush?!’
Well this year was just as outrageously brilliant. New flatmates, more RSVP’s and one other addition…
‘Ritzi, this is Pierre. Well, he’s not really Pierre, he’s Mark, but I didn’t think that sounded ‘chef’ enough…’
Oh yes, this year, the Maestro got a gourmet chef in to cook his Christmas dinner. Dear lord was it good.
At the table, I found myself wedged between an actress and a phone salesman, both of whom I’d apparently met at Maestro’s birthday dinner earlier this year.
Right. If you say so… (cue Ritzi’s inability tom remember a face unless she’s seen it at least ten times).
‘You’re much more fun tonight,’ the phone salesman announced, very unflatteringly, as we awaited the main course.
‘Am I? Oh thanks,’ at this point I’m a tad bored talking about the one show I work on that they’ve actually heard of, and considering accidentally throwing my wine in this dudes face to break the monotony.
‘Yeah, I don’t know what it is, you’re more… I don’t know… Chilled out.’
‘Right,’ maybe last time I met this guy (if indeed I really did) he carried on a conversation like this. I’m sure that would be enough to wind me up.
Annoyingly, the guy didn’t let it go, and then the actress joined in.
‘I can’t believe it’s almost been a year since Maestro’s birthday dinner!’ She said, after agreeing that I was apparently something of an ice queen at our last meeting.
Wait… almost a year?
‘Maestro, when’s your birthday darling?’ I asked.
’16th of January love!’ He shouted back. Quite loud actually, considering he was but three places down. I think he’d had rather a lot of the vodka cranberry sauce.
Ah… that would explain things. Of course I was a bitch last time the phones4u man and the actress met me. I was stone cold sober in the middle of a January detox.
It appears everything’s more fun with a bit of alcohol (okay, a lot of alcohol) involved. Dinner with strangers, one night stands, late nights in the office… to name but a few.
Are we really at that point when we can’t be interesting without being sloshed? I think it’s a sad but true fact that maybe we are. Remember the Cosmo blogger party with the fake booze? So not fun. The pizza and wine date followed by pub soon after? INFINITELY more amusing.
Can we save sobriety? Or should we just give up now? This seems like the sort of question it’s a little unfair to ponder in December, with more than a hundred potential corporate units lined up in my diary this week.
Are you fun, sober? Think about it. Apparently I’m not.
Well, not when faced with a dinner date with a phone salesman anyway…