What a lovely time we had at Fifi’s party tonight. I’ve worked with Fifi on at least a couple of occasions, and I was trying to remember if I’ve ever been her boss, but I don’t think so. Actually, maybe I was, for a short while once.
I once shared a flat with Fifi, Gillian and Lindsey, up in Morningside. Sometimes, my lad friends would come up there.
“Rodz – are you enjoying living in a flat with three women? Are you involved with any, or all, of them?” they would ask, a bit more crudely than I have stated in that quotation.
“It’s wonderful. And no.” I would reply, because at that time I wasn’t going out with Lindsey.
And then one of my lad friends, for some inexplicable reason, reached under the settee and pulled out what turned out to be a pair of nickers.
“What’s this, Rodz? Are you sure about the answer to that second question?”
“It’s nothing to do with me.” I answered, honestly.
I enjoyed the party tonight for several reasons. Firstly, because I didn’t drink too much. Secondly, because the venue was good. Fiddler’s Elbow. At ground level there’s a bar and restaurant. Upstairs was the party room. Downstairs is some kind of club. Outside, during a smoko (I don’t know if it’s the same in your country, but in Scotland, if you want a ciggie, you have to go outside), I asked one of the barmen how young you would need to be to fit in to the club, and he said that the club was not part of the same management, but that it was for people of all ages.
“Even someone as old as me?” I asked.
“Sure!” he replied.
Well, I didn’t go down there, so I can’t verify that.
There was a nice atmosphere to the party. Fifi had put some effort into the music, and people were dancing at times, but the sounds never took over or got too loud, so you could still talk to people. There was some nice food as well.
At first, I felt a bit spare, because I didn’t recognise anyone I knew. But the thing is not to worry about that sort of thing. Conversation happens, eventually. We met some folk that Lindsey knew, and also during the first smoko I spoke to an extremely tall chap, who’d been in the bar, rather than the party.
“How tall are you?” I asked, cheekily.
“You could be a bowler!” I exclaimed.
Usually, in Scotland where many people don’t take to cricket, you’ll get blanked if you say something like that, but instead, he said:
“Actually, I was a wicket-keeper.”
So we had a ciggie-length conversation about cricket, which was nice.
And the kids at the party were terrific. I say ‘kids’, but they were all my sons’ ages – 20, 21, 22 or so. Such nice kids! Pleasant to talk to, and interesting, and forward-looking, and positive. They had their opinions, but they didn’t force them on you. And they were relaxed at socialising.
Well, at the same age, me and Fat Mac were not like that. When we were that age, me and Fat Mac would be interested only in getting hammered and chasing skirt.
Thirdly, the party was good because everyone was so relaxed. And also, Shaun (younger son) met a whole bunch of his friends. He’d previously wanted to pull out of going to the party, because he thought that he wouldn’t know anyone there.
During the second smoko I got talking to the chef from the restaurant and another barmen and barwoman. I told the chef about the wonderful meal we’d had at the Bridge of Lochay, the other week. The chef said that he, too, cooked nice food sourced locally. It’s definitely a trend. And, because I hadn’t drunk too much, I didn’t falsely claim to be an internationally famous food-critic-blogger so how about a free meal sometime, like I once did on another occasion in another place.
For her birthday, Lindsey gave Fifi one of Fat Mac’s daughter’s wee stained glass creation pendant thingys, which she liked. Fat Mac also once worked in the same place as Fifi.
Fifi has been going through some tough times ever since she was run down by a car, due to the migraines that resulted, so it was great to see her in good form.
This is a heavy weekend. A party, a ceilidh, and on Sunday a family meal. I’m going to catch some ZZZZds.